


Acid & Flame: Covered in Crystal and Ice

by Kyia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Denial, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Magic, Multi, Violence, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyia/pseuds/Kyia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is what she says she is, and what she says she is not.<br/>She is more than a Hunter, more than a Rogue, and has no reason to let the world she knows so little of, know.<br/>Shes fire and acid, covered in ice, and dusted in crystal shards.<br/>Touch me not. </p><p>Somehow, shes going to save the world, or die trying.<br/>Whatever happens in the interim isn't planned for.<br/>But then again, nothing was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a different take on my original work, Snowflakes at the End of the World. Mostly written due to the fact that as much as I like my Inquisitor, her noble ways of dealing with things make her bland. I don't like my characters bland.  
> So after reading a few dozen really excellent works, I figured that I needed some ways to make the Inquisitor her own person.  
> Thus, she's been re worked. She has fire, and acid, and no fear about who she offends if it means shes going to save the world to do so.  
> But its all hidden under ice, and held under control.  
> So while this is only a teaser chapter, let me know what the thoughts of the readers are please!

"Cassandra. You should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is not a mage, and in fact I find it difficult to believe any mage could have this power." He had said. But was he correct? 

She did not appear to be a mage. She did not carry a staff. She did not cast spells. She was a rogue, wielding dual blades with precision. But something was odd, and it set his curiosity free. There was magic under her skin, but it seemed that she did not use it. It bothered him, but it was the least of the odd things about her, or of the situation.  
She had stepped out of a Fade rift, the conclave had exploded. There was a massive hole in the sky that spewed demons, the organisations that ruled most of the established human world had essentially been left headless in the wake of the destruction. She had somehow been the only survivor in that madness, and she sported a glowing green mark that was able to close the other fade rifts that appeared. It was an incredible feat, and far more than any of those close to the breach had been able to do. So perhaps there were more important things to focus on than the fact he felt energy under her skin.

It was a reprieve for all of them, and meant less demons to fight. 

For all that she had been a prisoner, she appeared eager to help if she could. She had taken one look at the breach and asked Seeker Cassandra if it would destroy the world. When Cassandra answered in the affirmative, she had squared her shoulders and agreed to do whatever she could to stop it. 

When she had come to the aid of himself and the dwarf, Varric, she had regarded them carefully. She had asked if they were of the Chantry, and little else. But she had regarded him solemnly when it came to light that he had kept her alive during the night. She had given him a deep bow, and thanked him quietly in her mother tongue. He was surprised by that, but he wasn't sure why her manner surprised him. Perhaps the fact she was Dalish, and yet not acting the way he was used to the Dalish acting was putting him off. Most Clans of Dalish would make him leave, and were rarely polite. 

She was formal, polite and almost noble in her ways of dealing with people. 

He could see that the companions were not sure what to make of her either. 

When they approached the Breach, she had leapt to action. Her eyes never left her surroundings, observing the Red Lyrium that had erupted from the ground, the burnt corpses, and the charred ruins of the once great Temple of Sacred Ashes. She consistently moved onwards threw the mire. Well no, that was wrong. She didn’t so much move as she stalked. She didn’t make noise when she moved, and she’d often appear out of nowhere beside someone who was peering around a corner to see if enemies lurked ahead. She didn’t falter in her mission, and she barely blinked. Even as the Fade revealed she had been with the divine before she had been killed. Her eyes never wavered, her stance never dropped. She was unstoppable. 

She held her hand up in the air, something connected between her and the hole in the sky. 

Solas felt the fade shift and twist in ways that felt healing, rather than ripping. The breach sealed, she fell unconscious, and he felt the world shift as well. The massive hole in the sky remained, but it felt stable. 

Whatever she had been before, she was now something else. If nothing else, she was their only hope of some semblance of normality for the world.


	2. Unwilling Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dalish Rogue, First to Clan Lavellan, and yet the fact she falls out of the Fade with a glowing light on her hand makes her a prophet? Not if she has a choice in it.  
> But sometimes the choices arent yours to make, and if you decide that the hole in the sky needs be dealt with, because if you do not deal with it, it will swallow your world, sometimes you end up being a Herald weather you wish to be or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to the heart of it.  
> In advance, I'm not used to writing corrosive characters, so this might be dryer than I thought till i get the hang of this. Suggestions are welcome, I'm sorry for the short chapter.

She awoke from a sleep to the sound of a little elf maid who was panicked at best by the fact she had awoken. After a mild dialogue that told her little except that those who had demanded she use the mark on her hand to seal the sky seemed to be pleased with her work, and that the seeker wanted to speak to her, the elf girl fled. Leaving her to an empty cottage. 

She lay back before getting up. The bed was comfortable. Not bad for shemlen. 

 

She got up, surveying her surroundings. She found her armour, and put it on, before examining the cottage in detail. She found elfroot, potions, and some information about what appeared to be notes on her conditions. She’d been out for 3 days?

She found herself a looking glass and examined her appearance. White hair, braided in tiny braids over the top of her head, and then just under the tips of her pointed ears. Her eyes were odd, deep dark violet. She had graceful and intricate tattoos on her face, in the shape of the foliage of a trees including a wing like pattern under her eyes, along her cheekbones. The vallaslin was emerald green. It was neatly bisected by a heavy scar over her left eye that trailed down over her cheek and almost onto her mouth. The second half of the scar along her jawbone, the remnants of a lesson well learned. The wound had been deep, and the scar itself was still pink. It wasn’t so long ago that she had gained this scar, but she put that out of mind as she looked to her armour. It was cheap mercenary armour, not what she was used to wearing, but it would serve. It would also be upgraded the first chance she got. 

She opened the door to see a huge bunch of shemlen lining a pathway threw the compound. Her heart started fluttering. She was not used to this many people, and not when they were all looking at her. Her clan was at max, 40 people, and this was not what she had expected. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, before her eyes opened again and she walked regally between the shemlen. Her ears flicking subtly to pick up the conversations that were happening around her.

She heard commentary about what she's done, the closing of a few rifts, the sealing of the breach. There was some commentary about her being a herald for Andraste. She almost scoffed at that. She was not of the chantry. She would not be. She also heard the never ending slurs. Knife ear, thief, and impostor. She almost smirked. Who could she be taking the name of? A prophet from a pantheon she had little use for? Highly unlikely. They could keep their “Herald” business to themselves. Maybe Cassandra would volunteer.  
The chantry loomed ahead of her in the cold sun. When she was in the compound, she was happy to shut the door behind her on the crowd outside. She heard voices, and listened to the conversation as she explored. Pocketing notes and information as she picked her way through every door she came across and scrounging her way through everything. She found a few baubles. Not many, but a few. Good enough to sell if not to keep. 

The door at the end of the hallway hid the speakers discussing her existence. She wanted to snarl and tell them that she had done as asked, and now she would go back to her clan, but she had a feeling that she couldn't in good consciousness do that. 

Shemlen weren’t elves, but they were similar. They deserves a safe and happy life too. She just didn't want to be responsible for giving it to them. Better yet, she wanted to be home. Even if home meant being among a Clan who had been partially turned against her. It was still better than shemlen who tended to wish her harm. 

She listened to the door. Listened to Cassandra telling the chancellor to find himself another scapegoat. When she felt they'd exhausted themselves, she opened the door. The seekers messenger had said "at once.” 

“Chain her! I want her ready for transport to the capital for trial. “Said the chancellor, pointing at her.

"I invite you to try, chancellor." She said softly, glaring at him. 

"You are a dangerous criminal who will be held accountable for what she has done!" 

"While you sit here and do nothing about the Breach?" Asked Cassandra. "I think not. Guards, leave us." She said to the guards at the door. 

“You walk a dangerous line Seeker.” 

The rest of the conversation blurred to her, even as Cassandra suggested that she was sent by the Maker to help them. 

“You realize I’m Dalish, correct? I am no one’s Prophet.” She had responded, unhappy to be dragged in as a religious hero to an organization she had hated since she was 12. 

A book was suddenly slammed on the desk between them. Her eyes flicked to it as Cassandra slowly backed the Chancellor into a corner with what she intended to do. It took the dalish a few minutes to figure out that they intended for her to stay and help them. 

Wait, me? Why me? 

“Your mark is the only hope we have to seal the Breach.” Leliana had said. 

But I am not your Herald! I am First to Clan Lavellan, not a religious figure to a bunch of Andrastrians! You volunteer if it’s that important to you! 

She wanted to scream at them. 

Instead, she found the inside of her lip and bit down hard, feeling the trickle of blood on her tongue. 

Truthfully, she admired these two women, who had obviously walked away from everything they had known, to do something they felt worth it. To do everything they could to save the world. Had they been part of stories told at the campfires at night, she would have been awestruck. Being that she was standing there being told she would have to assist? It was less inspiring, and far more fearful than she would have thought. 

“Fine.” Cassandra jumped, she hadn’t expect such a sharp tone from the Dalish in front of her. “I will help you seal the sky, but after that I will depart. I care not for your Chantry, you can handle that yourself, but the Breach threatens us all. That I will see closed.” Cassandra opened her mouth to argue, but Leliana stopped her by agreeing. 

“Help us fix this, before it’s too late.” Said Cassandra, putting out her hand. 

She shook it. 

For better or worse, now she was involved in a Shemlen war, a war she’d never wanted to be part of, which she now didn’t have much choice about. She could not go back to her clan without knowing she’d done everything she could to save them. If that meant joining with others to save the world, than that is what she would do. 

 

That didn’t for a moment meant it would be easy. 

“Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it-“

“And leave it still in the sky, waiting to be reopened, like an unhealed wound.” Her voice cut sharply across the room, and across the Commander. “The Templars are ill suited to understanding a magical situation. Only in suppressing it. In this case, we need the wound healed, not bandaged and ignored.” 

“If magic caused the Breach, then those who fight magic would be best suited for helping to fix the issue in the first place.” 

“Templars do not have the understanding that Mages do about such things. They’re training is in suppression, not in correction of magical issues.”

“I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.” 

“Am I not correct however? Templars are not built for the understanding of magical issues, only in making certain they do not get worse?” He fixed his amber eyes on the floor before seeking out her level gaze. 

“In some respects, I suppose you are correct Lavellan.” She nodded quietly. 

“If we have a choice, I would prefer to interact with the Mages.” 

“Unfortunately, neither side will even speak to us yet.” Interjected Josephine. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and you specifically.” Fáelán grimaced, surprising her advisors. Her face had been a mask of neutrality for all of the time they had known her. Her eyes and ears had conveyed her real emotions. Her eyes growing sharper in the face of adversity, and her ears moving far more than they could ever make their own move. 

“They may denounce the elf as much as they wish, the point remains that as much as neither of us like it, I’m the only one able to do anything about the Rifts or the Breach for the moment.” 

“That is not the entirety of the issue any longer. They are calling you the Herald of Andraste, that-“

“Terrifies them and all others who hear it. Blasphemy usually does.” She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to try to steel her nerves. 

“Quite the title isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” Her eyes opened directly into the gaze of the Commander. She watched as his breath hitched and noted the subtle movement that indicated he’d almost tried to take a step back from her unwavering gaze. 

“I am no one’s Herald. I am Dalish, and if I didn’t have this mark on my hand, I would be another knife ear for most people to step on or order about. The fact that I have the power to do what the Chantry so far cannot means that anyone who is desperate will turn to me as a source of hope. But I am not here to bring hope. I am here to fix the sky. That is all. If I can convince the Chantry of this, maybe we could all get along and get this over with. It’s a long shot, but it could happen. Now how do we go about making that idea something that the Chantry will accept?” 

Preferably, the faster, the better. I have a Clan to take care of. 

“There is a Chantry Mother not far from here, Mother Giselle who would like to speak with you. If we can get her support, she might be able to help us with smoothing things over with the Chantry. ” 

“Good. We leave at dawn.” Spinning on her heel, she strode out of the room. 

This was good. This was a goal, something to work for. Something to get done. Branch one on the tree, only another million other steps to the top. But it was a start. 

 

Solas stood to the side of the cottage he resided in, observing the camp. He felt something around him change, but as his ears flicked back to hear if anyone was coming, he couldn’t hear anything outside of the ordinary. 

“You are a Fade Walker.” Said a soft voice. He had to stop himself from leaping into the air in shock. 

“Milady-!” he exclaimed, seeing the speaker to his side. She regarded him in her silent unblinking way. Bald, tall, green-grey robe, elf, like her, currently recovering his breath. His blue to grey eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “How did you know that I was familiar with the Fade?” 

“You have the same sense as my Father did. He was also well versed in the Fade.”

“Oh? What happened to him.” She blinked at him. 

“He passed on.” 

“ _Ir abelas_ ” he responded. She bowed slightly. 

“Thank you.” She said softly, slipping off quietly. The apostate stared at her for a moment before going after her. 

“Fáelán?” she turned to him. “You are not an apostate, yes? Yet you are First to your Clan?” Her eyes clouded and her lips drew into a thin line. 

“Yes.” 

“But Firsts are required to be Mages are they not?”

“Don’t.” She responded. 

“Milady?”

“Don’t go there. I know what you want to ask, and I caution you now. Don’t go there.” She began to walk away again, but he caught her arm. 

“Are you sure you do not have any magic?” She whirled around at him, flinging off his grasp from her arm. Her lips curled back in a sneer that revealed canines that were noticeably pointed. The air around them started to spark with electricity. 

“I said, don’t go there Solas.”

“You bleed power, how is it you do not have magic? If you are a mage-“

“Enough!” she roared. In the compound of Haven, her voice echoed around cottages and around common areas alike. The air was no longer sparking around her, but crackling with electricity, and snapping with tiny lightning bolts. Any onlookers were now shuffling away from them both as Solas starred at her. The snarl that held her face kept her looking like some form of wild animal, and in the mid-day light, she looked like some type of forest cat. “You have no right to question me about this. I have given you an answer, now respect it!” A lightning bolt arched around her in a flash of blue fire, but fizzled out as she visibly calmed herself down. 

He was still staring at her, agape. She bowed to him in the formal way he had noted from her, but the movement was stiff, forced. She walked around the side of a house and to all onlookers, essentially disappeared. 

She was still sparking when she got to her cottage and got as much as she could done to depart the next morning.


	3. Forgotten Accusations

They had returned from the Hinterlands with a decent haul, looking tired, and worn out as anyone had ever seen them. Fáelán had gained a few agents for the fledgling Inquisition, found resources, closed more than a few rifts, and made contact with the horse master. Cassandra was now a little surer of the odd elf they had found at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but still uneasy about the supposed Herald. The Herald had said that there would be at least a few days off before they ventured out again, and once she had obtained herself a warm bath, and washed herself clean of the road and the dirt they had bathed in for 3 weeks, she approached the Commander.

“Cullen?”

“Seeker! You’ve returned I see.” His hands were perched on his sword hilt, as they tended to be.

“Yes Commander, we have.”

“Progress has been made I trust?”

“Yes. The Herald is surprisingly driven.”

“Why do you say that?” Cassandra paused for a moment.

“She does not appear to sleep, for one. Either that, or she does not sleep much. I would be woken for watch to find her gone, and she would always appear in short order with herbs, or a few treasures.” Cullen frowned.

“That is odd behaviour.”

“She systematically went to find every Rift that was mentioned in passing, or otherwise, to close it. We also dealt with both the rogue Templar threat and the threat of the apostates. That woman seems to never tire.” He frowned slightly.

“This is a bad thing?” Cassandra shook her head.

“Not at all. But it surprised me how much she pushed herself. How determined she was to make certain that the refugees were taken care of, and that we gather as much resources as we possibly could. How are your recruits coming along?” she asked.

“Well, although there are a few of them that are better than others, it won’t be long until they are truly a fighting force I would be proud to take anywhere, and up against anything.” He lifted his chin proudly, which normally would earn him a smile from the Seeker, but the dark haired lady only nodded absent mindedly.

“Good, good…” he sighed at her response.

“What is it Cassandra?” She toyed with her gauntlets, taking her time to order the words she wanted to say.

“Are we… certain that she isn’t a mage?” she asked. He frowned at her question.

“She does not carry herself like a mage, she has not cast spells around you, has she? She has no weaponry for magic… unless she showed something to you while you were in the Hinterlands?”

“There were more times than a few that when we were hurt and were out of potions, she’d sit with us into the night, and in the morning, we’d be healed from whatever wounds we had sustained. Other times, if she or we were wounded, there would be miniature electrical storms that would appear around her. Usually doing nothing but making the air spark around her, but it would sometimes turn into lightning that would hit our opponents.” Cassandra looked uneasy at the entire conversation as Cullen considered what she had said.

“You are the one who can see Lyrium, Cassandra. Do you see any of that in her system?” The lady shook her head.

“Whatever it is that she does, or can do, she does not rely on Lyrium to sustain it.”

“Anything else you’ve noticed?” he asked, his brow still furrowed in a perplexed expression.

“She would sleep rarely, I found. But often she would awaken screaming. The first time she did so, we barely slept the rest of the night ourselves.”

“Did you speak to her?” he asked.

“Her answers were vague at best.”

“What did our Elven Apostate have to say about it all? Or did he have an opinion?” Cassandra shuddered a little at the memory.

“He asked as to the lightning that shocked a few Templars, and she gave him a glare that rivaled the Divine’s. If he asked about her sleep habits, I didn’t see the discussion. However, he attempted to give her some sleeping herbs, and she refused them. He apparently snuck some into her food at one point, and she just about tore his head off. The camp itself was almost torn apart by a sudden violent windstorm that died down just as suddenly as it began when Solas beat a hasty retreat.” Cullen wore a puzzled expression at Cassandra’s stories. “Have you ever heard or seen this in your travels?”

“Not that I can recall I’m afraid. Mages are usually mages, and rogues are usually rogues. Unless she is an apostate who is unaware of her power, or one that is hiding her identity, I’ve never heard of anyone having magic without having some control over it.”

“It appears she has control, but I do not see her having any sort of conscious control of it. She is not actively using it, it is bleeding out from her.”

“Is she dangerous?” Cassandra gave him a very crooked smile.

“Are you?” He grinned.

“Point taken.” His expression grew serious again. “But this is a serious problem.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Whatever it seems she can or cannot do, it has never hurt any of us before. This might be something of a curiosity, but it does not seem to be a problem.”

“Until she burns down a house with rampant magical energy it seems she cannot control!” he responded. “I don’t care if she is the Herald, or if she isn’t, an untrained apostate mage is even more of a threat than the Breach!” He was outraged that they had allowed all of their faith to rest on someone that was obviously dangerous, and it was a wonder that Haven, or most of the hinterlands still stood if she was an untrained apostate.

“Commander, she appears to be no threat to anyone, unless they threaten her or us. We stayed with her for 3 weeks, and came to no harm. In fact in most cases we even benefited from the fact that she was there. She conjures more than lightning and wind you know. She heals as well, we benefitted much from Solas and her abilities when there were no potions to spare. Besides that, she’s a skilled healer, Apothecary Adan might be able to learn a great deal from her.” She looked over the training troups before pointing out the stance of one of the sparring pairs was off. Cullen barked a few orders and Cassandra nodded in assent as the pair in question righted themselves.

“I have yet to see her be a threat to us Commander, or the Inquisition.”

“This does not mean she could not be, given the right chances. I would like to make certain she is not a threat.” Cassandra flashed him a sharp look.

“Given how well she has responded to such questions so far, I would only do so if you wish to be the one who makes certain that she does become a threat.” Cullen’s lips became a thin line, and she could see the muscle in the back of his jaw working. He opened his mouth to reply to her statement when a page approached them.

“Commander. Seeker Cassandra, Lady Josephine has called a war council and asks that you meet her in the war room.” He said. Cullen offered her the lead and she took it. They entered the war room to find the elf in question leaning over the table and staring at the map.

Her hair was in a small ponytail, and her clothes and armour had definitely seen better days. Cullen eyed her with distrust as he took his place at the opposite end of the table between Leliana and Josephine before handing her the reports that required her attention. She took them without a word, her eyes scanning quickly over the words before she nodded quietly and straightened up. His eyes took her in in the precise details. Her blades that hung in scabbards over her shoulders. The emerald green vallaslin that covered her pale white skin. The rips along the arms of her armour. The stains of blood all over her clothing, and the gashes in her armour that corresponded with stains on her clothing where wounds had once been.

She spoke softly, requesting information from Leliana and Josephine about various topics, while his orders were to deploy his troops into ways that gained the fledgling Inquisition money. He couldn’t agree more with the idea. They were short on funds. Nodding once to them, she left the room without a word, and they bid each other adieu for the time being, getting back to their work.

He wondered if he should ask her about whatever power she held. He had heard rumours of what Solas had asked of her prior to parting for the Hinterlands, and the way she had reacted. He did not need to be seen running from her supposed power with his tail between his legs. Another thing was pulling at the back of his mind as well. He was no longer a Templar, and if he did ask her such questions only to have her lash out at him, than he would have no defense except his skills with a shield and sword. He could not suppress whatever power she had. But according to what Cassandra had said, she didn’t use Lyrium to fuel whatever power it was anyway, so what good was Templar training anyway? He still had his natural resistance to magic, but he was not lightning resistant. He pondered over it as he went about his day.

 

She succeeded in bolstering their forces in a small space of time. On leliana’s advice, she’d found a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall in the Hinterlands, and had added the mercenary company “The Bull’s Chargers” as well as the formidable Qunari Iron Bull to her company. Her network continued to expand, and she decided that the next logical step was to go see the remains of the Chantry in Val Royeaux.

 

Val Royeaux was to put it nicely, a bust.

The Templars had appeared, only to essentially abandon the Chantry to withdraw elsewhere, but it had ended with the Inquisition being formally invited to Redcliff to meet with the rebel Mages. It also gained Fáelán more allies. One in the form of a petty criminal organisation known as “the Friends of Red Jenny”, and one of their associates, an elf who would rather not be seen as an elf, Sera. Another in the form of the formidable First Enchanter of Montsimmard, Vivienne.

The next thing she set her mind to sorting out was who they should approach for help with the Breach.

The answer to which made him more uncomfortable than he would have liked to admit.

 

It was early afternoon, and Fáelán was sitting at the desk she had been given, in the cottage she had awoken in, looking over the letter that had come from the Keeper of the Lavellan Clan when a knock came at her door. Opening it, she found the commander standing there.

“Mistress Lavellan!” he gulped. “May I – err, may I have a word with you?” Her eyebrow rose in response, but she moved back and gestured to the interior. He entered her dwelling before hearing the door click closed behind him. He turned to see her leaning against the door, her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised.

“I came to speak to you about who you wish to approach about the Breach.” Her mouth became a thin line, and he watched as her stance went from relaxed boredom to ready-to-move posture. Her eyes narrowed as she fixed the commander with a pointed stare.

“This has already been discussed, Commander. You have already spoken your opinion, but as you and the advisors appear to have left it up to me, I have chosen.”

“The Templars are a formidable force, milady.” He began.

“Who appear to be only too pleased to follow their leader into a castle far from the fighting. Away from anyone that might need their ‘formidable might’ as protection. The Templars have made their choice. Should not all of them wish to follow the Lord Seeker, than so long as I have any say, the gates of the Inquisition will be open to them. But I would not seek help from Templars even if they had not been so happy as to run away from those who needed them.”

“Did you not hear Cassandra when she said that something was wrong with Seeker Lucius?”

“I heard her well and clear Commander. I also didn’t care.” Her voice could have chipped apart stone. “I don’t give a nug’s ass for the Chantry, but I have no respect for a man who has his subordinates assail elderly women. Anyone who watches that, and doesn’t stand up for her, I have even less respect for.”

“You can’t assume that all Templars stand by his behaviour!”

“I offered those attending a chance to join the Inquisition. They refused. You try my patience Commander. Do you not have troops to train? Or was there something else you wanted to see how far you could push the filthy knife ear about?” Her arms were folded over her chest, and her eyes could have pinned him against the wall with the amount of daggers they were glaring into his skull.

“Yes actually.” His tone bit equally hard as part of his mind started protesting loudly about the topic he was going to broach. “I’ve heard rumours that you are an untrained apostate.”

“They are incorrect.” She said flatly.

“I’ve heard rumours that you called a lightning storm to your defense before you left for the Hinterlands. If you are an apostate-“

“I am no mage!” she yelled at him. The air was, as suggested, beginning to spark around her. He felt the electricity along his skin in small, quiet snaps.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly. Something about how angry she seemed to be getting made him want to see how far he could push her, perhaps just to see if she would eventually break façade and cast a spell at him, or pull out a staff. Another part of him was screaming that pissing off someone who could apparently conjure lighting to her aid was _really_ not a good idea.

“If I was, Ser _Templar_ ” she snarled, “what would you do about it? Would you have the knife eared apostate in chains and in a circle somewhere to die, like the rest of those you stow in stone prisons and murder?”

“I am not a Templar.” He responded. He felt a flame begin inside of him, a burning sensation somewhere within his chest that spilled over the vessel it had begun in, and begin coating his insides with anger.

“You are a Templar. Filled with rage that anyone might have power that is not bound to the God who abandoned you, is able to walk free under the sky.” The air around them had begun to spark more frequently now, small bursts of electricity crackled around them and around her hands, as what appeared to be a slight wind was blowing around the dwelling. Her eyes were blazing in fury, and he noticed that her canines were reminiscent of a wolf’s. “You fear what you do not understand, and like all of your Order, believe you understand all things pertaining to magic, even when you are wrong!”

“I. Am. **Not.** A Templar!” he roared at her.

“Are they all such cowards? Or is it just you?” she snarled in response.

“Enough!” He found himself holding her against the wall of her cottage with his arm pressed up against her throat. She could still breathe, because he felt her throat moving under his arm. He didn’t know where she had gotten it from, but she had a blade in one hand up against his throat as well, the other wrapped around his wrist to keep him from applying any further pressure to her throat. They glared at each other, both of their faces still frozen in a snarl.

“Release me, Commander.” The growl came from deep in her throat. He could feel the vibrations against the metal around his arm. “Before we both do something we regret.” They were both panting, anger still racing threw their veins.

She opened her mouth to snarl at him again, when she closed it as suddenly. Her brow furrowed as she felt something twist around her.

“Maker-“ he gasped suddenly before his knees went out from under him.

_Maker, not now._ He thought helplessly as he felt her catch him with a grunt before he hit the ground. He was surprised that she hadn’t collapsed entirely under his weight, but that thought disappeared with the wave of dizziness that him like a tidal wave upon the beach.

Distantly, he felt himself being pulled, and felt his legs move in the direction he was being led, before settling on something soft. He felt a sweaty palm touch his forehead, and a voice somewhere begin speaking fluently in a language he didn’t recognise, in a tone that suggested the speaker was cursing. That was all he knew before a wave of blackness came up from the depths of his mind and pulled him down into unconsciousness.

 

She was cursing, loudly in fact. She had a vague sense about what was wrong. There was poison in his blood, and this wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, but this didn’t happen often, and if she could just get him through the worst of it, it might settle down later. In situations like this, her training as a Keeper was exactly what she used. A Keeper protects her clan. Even if her clan just tried to kill her. Or whatever it was that had just happened. She put the memory of what had just happened out of her mind and turned it back to the problem at hand. She found her wash basin full of cold water, and soaked a cloth in it before applying it to Cullen’s forehead. She set a pot of water to boil, and pulled out her stache of potions and potion ingredients. Knowing that it would take some time for the water to boil, she looked over her charge with a critical eye.

He needed to be undressed, if for no other reason than the items he wore to keep himself warm would make damn certain he would overheat far before he awoke. Turning her eyes to the heavens, she pulled back the sides of his furry vest to start on his armour. Stripping it off of him piece by piece, and placing it carefully on the shelf across the room. She kept feeling his temperature, trying to make sure he didn’t overheat.

Having gotten the front of his armour off of him, she worked to lift him up to rest his neck and shoulders on her knee so she could strip off the armour on his back.

It was a tough thing to do alone, but she finally got him down to breaches and nothing else before tucking him half into her bed. His temperature was still overly high, so she ducked outside and brought in a pot of snow. Loading it into a towel and placing it against his skin. She added fresh herbs to the almost boiling pot on the fire, taking it off the heat as she heard him start to moan behind her.

Turning, she approached the bedside carefully.

“Commander Cullen?” she asked. He cried out as she placed a hand on his forehead, and then beside his neck. His temperature was cooling, but that wasn’t the problem here now. The problem was more inside him.

 

Despite his moaning, he seemed stable. Running to the door, she flagged down a passing messenger.

"Go get seeker Cassandra. Inform her that it’s urgent, and let nothing stop you. If anyone stops you, tell them you are running an errand from me. Tell no one else, otherwise I will strip you to your smalls, and leave you for the wolves. “Her lips were drawn back in a tight line that exposed teeth. The messenger ran off like he had demons on his tail. She turned back to her charge, who was now muttering under his breath, and sweating again. She went for cold water and bathed his face in the cool liquid. His moaning increased in volume as Cassandra knocked urgently on the door an entered. She came in and assessed the situation.

"Makers breath" she said. Fáelán gave her very quick run through of symptoms and what had happened.

"What is this?" She asked. Cassandra looked uneasy.

"If he hasn't told you, than I can't in good conscious inform you."

"Fine. Give me something I can work with." She said without pause, disregarding Cassandra’s discomfort.

"Withdrawal." She said shortly. Fáelán nodded, uncrossed her arms, and went to her herb stocks. She muttered quietly as she shifted the plants. Pulling out a few samples of various bunches, she moved to her desk where a mortar and pedestal sat.

"I need a light type of oil, and could you see if Adam has any spindle weed?" She asked. Cassandra nodded.

"I will see what I can find you, and Fáelán?" The elf's eyes jumped to hers even as she continued crushing the herbs in the mortar. "His troops do not know. They know he is periodically sick, but it has never interrupted his work. I will make certain you have what you need, as much as I can. But I ask that you say nothing about this to anyone." She waved the seeker away.

"I am a healer. I care not for the issues surrounding who I'm healing, simply that they get fixed. His secret is not mine to tell." She gave her patient a hard look before speaking again. "His symptoms are reminiscent of what I have treated in the past. In fact, the way he's reacting, I can only assume that whatever he's withdrawing from is a vicious drug. Much as I'd like to say otherwise, the fact that he is fighting it off is worthy of respect."  The seeker hid a small grin. The elf didn't notice, but began rattling off a set of instructions and a list of requests. Cassandra set off to fulfil the requests, leaving the commander in the elven healer's capable hands.

The door shut behind her, and she surveyed her patient. He was sweating and muttering. She did what she could for the sweating, keeping his temperature down before continuing to crush dried herbs. Cassandra returned with her requested items before leaving the elf to her work.

Fáelán drizzled the oil into the herbs, stirring the mixture until the oil turned green. Behind her, Cullen started speaking, feverishly.

"I will not submit, demon! You will not break me!" She moved back to where he was laying on her bed. Cupping his cheek, she spoke to him.

"Commander? You’re dreaming. It isn't real."

"You will not tempt me, abomination! I will not be broken! I don't care whose face you wear!" She frowned at him, whose face was his nightmare wearing? "You will not use the herald against me!"

Well. That answered that question.

"Cullen." She spoke softly to him, still cupping his cheek.

"No!" He cried, grabbing her arm and flinging her over him, pinning her to the bed with one hand holding her wrist, and the other her throat. His eyes were open now, but it wasn't her he saw. "You will not break me!" He was roaring in her face. His eyes were wild, but his pupils were dilated. Even as his hand tightened over her airways, she was sorting through her memories for a way to settle him down.

Coughing, she tried again, trying to work his hand off her throat as she tried to bring him back to reality.

"Cullen, come back to me. We need you. The Inquisition needs you. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real... "

"You lie!"

_Alright. Enough being nice_. She thought.

"That's enough, knight commander. Fight back!" She was able to breath now, which was a positive change from a few seconds earlier, but he still had a firm grip around d her throat. "You are supposed to be the commander of the inquisitions troops, not a coward who can't break from hallucinations!"

Recognition flashed in his eyes.

"Not a coward...” He growled under his breath.

"You could have fooled me, ser Templar!" She hissed.

"I’m not a Templar anymore!" He yelled.

"Coward!" She choked out as his hand tightened over her airways.

"NO!" He yelled. But it broke him out of it. She choked under his hand as he released her, the recognition dawning in his eyes. Gasping for air, she sat up and looked at him.

 

Staring at his hands, his mind reeled.

Maker, what had he done? Hallucinating was one thing, but almost killing the Herald?! What was he thinking? Well, that was the key, he thought. I wasn't thinking, I was hallucinating.

He was still stating at his hands and his lap when the feeling of sickness came over him. He covered his mouth to keep from being sick over the bed, but let it all spew out when a bucket suddenly appeared in front of him. Emptying his stomach, he felt her fingers on the back of his neck, and running through his hair as he kept heaving, despite the fact his stomach was empty. Sitting back after having been sick, he felt himself beginning to shake. He also felt the beginnings of a migraine at the edges of his temples. Breathing slowly threw his mouth, he felt the bucket being pulled from his lap, and a cup of water being placed in his hand. He raised it to his mouth and was going to take a gulp when the position of the cup in his hand was shifted, so he wouldn't be able to take gulps at a time.

"Sip it, don't gulp." He felt her hand around his, making certain he didn't shake the water out of the cup. She guided it to his mouth, and back down again until she was certain the water wouldn’t shake out of the vessel. When he was stable, she rose and busies herself by the fire. He was still staring at his hands when she came back with a slightly warm bowl of broth with some light veggies in it, and a spoon.

"Let's see if you can keep this down."  She said, letting him sip at the soup. It was pleasant, not too salty, not too bitter, and didn't seem to sit badly on his stomach. She handed him a steaming cup to him as well.

Cullen sipped at both, received to see that his shaking lessened as he ate. He didn't think about why she was being so kind to him or why she was even working so diligently to ease his pain. He wondered about asking her, but was distracted when she started singing under her breath. He didn't recognize the tune, but he found her voice immensely calming. When she wasn't snarling at him and growling in general, he found that her voice was incredibly gentle and pleasant to listen too.

He surprised himself with sudden shivering. She returned to take the soup from him and bundled a blanket around his shoulders.

"You should rest, ser knight-commander." She said without malice. He glanced at her sharply to see if she meant anything by it, buy found her expression gentle, not sharp. He wondered if she had been replaced with another elf who looked exactly like her, or if her bedside manner was really that good.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked. She looked at him. "You were furious with me earlier, yet you've done nothing but help me since I collapsed. Why?"

"Do I need a reason?" He frowned.

"No, I suppose not" he said.

"I am a healer, ser Commander. I have never been able to see someone in need and ignore it. You were in pain, you collapsed upon my floor, I would bring nothing but shame to myself if I did not do everything within my power to ease your suffering. I am first of clan Lavellan, and my honour demands I do everything to help anyone in pain. To do any less is not only shameful but bad manners." She stood there in front of him, expecting some sort of shemlen resistance, but found none. In fact, Cullen stayed silent, appearing to mull it over.

"I thank you for your assistance, lady Lavellan." He said finally. "I apologise if I have offended you in any way by insinuating that you might leave me to my ailments. I thank you for your care, but I do have to get back to my duties."

"No." She said firmly. "You are ill, and it would be unseemly for the commander of the inquisitions troops to be seen in any state that does not impress. Your duties can wait. You are far more useful to the inquisition as a healthy solider."

"But-"

"No. And I will not hear of anything else on the matter. Are we clear ser?" Her stance left no room for argument, and he knew that he would only make her angry if he pressed further. He sighed.

"As you will, my lady."

She nodded. Returning to what she was doing earlier to his question.

She focussed on what she was doing earlier.  Keeping the fire stoked and fed, making tea and some food for herself, sorting out remedies that might work for what he appeared to be going through. All the while doing her best to not think about what the commander looked like shirtless; the scars on his back and front, the muscles that rippled as he moved. She smacked the mortar into the herbs she was crushing a little more enthusiastically than she meant too.

Shemlen were not worth the time. To make it worse, he was a Templar! If she had sworn nothing else to herself it was that she would never be made to make nice with anyone of that order.

He was the Commander. She was not going to stick around. The hole in the sky would be fixed, and then she would return to her clan, leaving the Shem's to their existence. She had a clan to lead, and that did not include the commander of the inquisition. In any case, she thought, the point is moot. Why would he even stand a filthy knife ear anyway? The only reason that any of them tolerated her is because she could seal the rifts, and the sky. After that, she was fairly convinced that none of them cared. Which was just as well, there were few of the Inquisition she could actually stand.

Let them lead themselves, she wasn't interested.

She turned her mind back to the task at hand, ignoring the momentary attraction she had to the shemlen.

"Symptomology would be headaches, fatigue, and periodic nightmares if the hallucinations are anything to go by, inability to sleep, am I missing anything?" She asked, rattling off what she thought would fit for what she had observed and been told. He nodded tightly.

“Chest tightness, weakness, pain, vomiting, variations on those ideas.” He spat the list at her with a growl. Her response was a lifted eyebrow and a shrug, before she returned to the hearth. She filled a bowl with beef stew with vegetables and sat on the bed with him. Checking his temperature before she sat down, she sat beside him and started eating herself.

“I’ll see what I can make you for sleeping peacefully. With all luck, it works better for you than it did for me.” He wondered as to the reasons behind the second half of her statement, but resisted the urge to question, choosing instead to continue sipping his broth. He was impressed that he felt so comfortable with her, that whatever she had done with him had appeared to work better than other methods.

Perhaps it was just the fact that it was her, and not Adan.

He shook his head at that thought. That was not a thought process to entertain.

The shaking of his head brought about a new wave of nausea, and she took his bowl from him and set it on the bedside table with her own. She shifted her position to behind him as his breathing became ragged. She grabbed the bucket she had cleaned in case he needed to be sick again. Her hand on the crux of his shoulder and neck. It didn’t take long before he was shaking again, and she handed him a small cup of tea, steadying his hands for him so that he didn’t spill the drink over himself.

“Do you wish to sleep?” she finally asked after his breathing returned to something resembling normal. He nodded gently. The idea held merit, if he could only get his head to stop spinning. “Head spinning?” she asked, as if she had read his mind. He nodded to that as well, not trusting himself to speak. “Alright then.” She moved away the extra things, letting him lie down in her bed. Setting the container of oil and herbs on the bedside table, she dipped her fingertips in it, massaging it into the pads of her fingers, before reaching for his temples. He gave her an odd look, part question, part curiosity.

“What is this?” He asked softly, not really trusting himself to speak.

“Right.” She began, resigning herself to explain. “These herbs will help you settle down, will help your headache ease, and will allow you a little rest without anything disturbing you. I will keep watch as you rest. If there are night terrors, I will be there to help you confront them.”

He didn’t know why this made him feel better, the idea of her being close by. But he didn’t feel the need to really think about it at that point. He let her hands move over his fevered skin, bathing it in a cool balm of oil and scent. The scent alone made him feel tired, and the oil enriched herbs managed to help his headache ease, just as she had said it would. Had he been more awake, and less desperate for help in this matter, he would have questioned how she had known. What these herbs were and what they did. Not that he was fully aware anyway, he had been less than a stellar student when it came to herbology, but at least knowing that they were not poison was always helpful. Somewhere, he doubted that she would actually poison him. That for all of her growling and fierce eyes over sharp teeth, she wouldn’t harm him. He didn’t know _how_ he knew that, just that he did, and for some reason it made him feel more comfortable in her presence, at least with healing involved anyway. He trusted her to not take a knife to him in his sleep anyway. Not with how much effort she had taken to keep him alright.

Most people would be walking away if they had someone else’s hands around their throat, but she hadn’t tossed him out yet. Somehow, this meant he would be alright with her? He didn’t know, but didn’t care enough to worry right now.

He felt that perhaps he should be worried, but right this second… Didn’t. Maybe it was just because his headache was finally easing off.

He looked up at her face as she worked the oil into his skin. Her eyes were soft, gentle, worried even. He murmured softly as he started drifting into the Fade of sleep, turning his head against her hand, his lips pressing gently across her wrist. She disregarded it as he fell into sleep. She shook her head awake as she turned from him, shaking off sleep as she went. That combination of herbs always had her shifting off into sleep herself, but she had work to do this time, and sleep was not something she could risk, later perhaps, but not now.

She cleaned up as he slept. She sorted out her stocks of herbs, and put the ones she was lacking on a list for the road, where she could look for fresh ones as she hunted for whatever else the Shemlen needed her to do. She kept the Commander out of her thoughts as she worked, except as a purely academic thought, and only as a patient. She meditated instead. Working out ways of dealing with his issues, and sorting things she needed to do while she was in the field. Within an hour of his descent into the Fade, she’d cleaned, sorted out a herb mix that he could use for a dreamless sleep, or at least a sleep so deep he wouldn’t need to worry so much about dreaming, made certain that there were herbs sorted gently into her stocks, made lists of what she was missing, and had gone threw everything she knew of plants while she maintained her pathetic armour and her more impressive knives.

She would have gone to the forge and started working on things for Cassandra, Solas and Varric, but was worried that he’d wake without her. A Keeper did not abandon her patients, ever. So she stole quickly away to the quiet library she’d discovered in the bottom of the Chantry, pulled a few books from the shelves and ran back to her cottage, making certain to keep away from the main areas that everyone watched. Varric however, did spot her, and while his eyebrows rose in confusion, he refused to follow her, knowing that when she stopped by again for a chat he would be able to ask her as to her whereabouts and the reason that she was running like there demons on her tail.

She sat by the fire and read; deciding that finding out as much as she could about the world of the Shem was a good idea for now, especially if she were to be forced to be living in it for a time. She was always curious about the world of the Shemlen anyway, but with her training to work on at all times, she had had less time than she had wished for to examine what she could about their cultures, or religions. For now, she had time, and inclination, even if it were only for curiosity’s sake. So she devoured. Information on the Fade, the opinions of various Enchanters and what they had discovered, information about the Chantry and their prophet, she read voraciously.

 

She didn’t know how long it had been, but the light in the windows had gone dark. It was obviously late, but it could also be early. She was not used to how fast it darkened here in the Anderfels, she was used to it being light into the evening. But it was also a situation that differed depending on where her Clan went. She wondered where her Clan was now, how they were doing.

A cough brought her back to the present, away from her thoughts.

The Commander was awakening; it was a gentle thing, something she could tell by the sound of his breathing. She rose and busied herself with starting tea to boil, and warming up some soup for him. She added some of the lighter vegetables to the soup as well as some chunks of meat, figuring that the sleep would have done him a service. Her eyes traveled over her mixtures and herbs, lingering on the vial of herb oil that she had used to help him sleep to begin with, and the small pouch of herbs that helped the person who steeped them to sleep, peacefully and deeply. It didn’t occur to her that he might see her gifts as more than they might be, she saw them as something he could use, and thus something he should have. For her, it didn’t matter. She was a healer, and a First. A Keeper took care of her Clan.

That and she was still reeling from culture shock from being around these Shems.

He moaned softly, breaking from his passage in the Fade, looking up to see an unfamiliar ceiling.

She waited until he had blinked a few times and sat up to look around before she offered him some soup.

“Feeling better?” He blinked again, before taking the offered bowl of soup and digging in tentatively for the first few bites. When he figured that he wasn’t going to be sick by eating, he started taking more substantial bites of the filling stew.

“Yes, thank you.” She observed him out of the corner of her eyes while she sipped tea. She offered him a cup during a lull in his eating, and served herself another bowl.

“You’ve got the rest of the evening to sleep you know, I suppose you’re still tired.” He paused again before shrugging.

“I could sleep, but I do need to be up in the morning, and not so early that I cannot function during the day.” She shrugged; this was something she would leave to him. She served herself some stew and half-filled his bowl before settling down to continue reading.

“Did you sit the entire time beside me?” She gave him an unblinking stare. Waiting until he almost flinched under her gaze before answering.

“I told you I would. I got books, but beyond that, I was here.” His eyes dropped to the stack of books on each side of her chair, one significantly smaller than the other.

“Do you often read so much?”

“When I can.”

“I was not aware the Dalish had books.”

“We do not have tomes as Shemlen do.”

“Then how do you read?”

“I was taught your languages early. I was encouraged to learn as much as I could. You have a library here; I’m taking advantage of it.” He cocked his head to the side in a puzzled gesture. His amber eyes taking in the way her hands held the book, the way she sat scanning words, the way she looked so entranced, yet he knew she was also keeping an eye on him as she read.

“Why?” The question made her look up, her book still open on her lap. She suddenly was staring straight ahead before turning and fixing him with the oddly intense stare that pinned him in place.

“I am a Dalish in a Shemlen world. I am trapped here until I seal the sky, and then I am going to find my Clan and keep them safe as I once did. Part of that is making sure that I know as much about the Shemlen world we live in as I can. If I am required to remain here, than I shall use the time to my advantage, and learn about your people so I may take the knowledge back to be used. I will not be idle while I’m away from them.” She turned back to the book she was reading, leaving him feeling like he needed help sitting up without the power of her gaze holding him still.

“What if we require your assistance past the Breach?”

“You will rebuild your Church, and I’m certain you will be led by whoever will be chosen. You will have no use for me, I’m sure.” She turned the page.

“We could always use good men and woman to help us heal the world.“ he began. She thought for a moment, and he felt the silence become palatable. Something he could feel in the room with them, like an unseen entity that was scrutinizing him in ways that had made a young Templar once cringe, yet somehow this was more intense.

She closed the book with a snap.

“Why. Why would I stay in a place where I cannot go anywhere without being referred to as ‘knife ear’? Lady Josephine may have as many words with her staff as she wishes, but the point remains that most do not believe that an elven anyone could be your fabled “Herald”. I have no use for Shemlen, Commander. I have no use for the part of the world that holds my people in contempt, despite your best intentions. Better yet, if I go anywhere, I get chased by Templars, desperately seeking to heal their order by saving the world from the terrible elf, which despite me saying otherwise, fits the bracket of ‘apostate.’ My people are already scapegoats for the world’s problems. Why would I put myself in direct fire for Shemlen to hunt me further?” She finished, her tone bitter, her brow furrowed. She wouldn’t look at him. He wasn’t entirely surprised by this fact. She had several points. It was a dangerous world for her people, and he hadn’t exactly made her feel more welcome by demanding answers to if she was an apostate or not. He suddenly felt guilt blossom in his gut, and wondered if he should apologise.

In the end, as she remained in her tense position, the decision was made for him.

“Milady, I apologise if I-“

“Don’t bother Commander. Your ignorance is only matched further by your inability to know when to keep your mouth shut.”

He knew an order when he heard it. He waited, silently. Until the silence descended, and he became that young Templar again, stuttering for the correct phrase of the Chant of Light, and knowing that whatever he said would not be enough.

“Perhaps I should leav-“

“No, you should sleep.” She cut across him again.

“But this is your bed Milady, where will you sleep?” He could not even comprehend the idea of leaving her to sleep in the chair, or worse, on the floor. He wouldn’t even think of asking her to join him, but it was her bed. But where would she sleep if he was to borrow her bed for the night?

“You assume I sleep at all Commander. I will rest as I need too. Your job is to recover, not worry for me.”

“But Milady-!” he began.

She cut him off with a sigh before shaking her head. She rose, placing the book behind her on the chair and moved to the fire again, pulling the pot of water back on to boil. She rinsed out his cup, and added different herbs to the vessel. He watched her as she moved about her business. When the water was hot she added it to the cup, and handed it to him, being careful not to burn him. Having done this, she went back over to where it appeared her personal effects where, but he raised an eyebrow when he noticed her not going for her herbs again. He blew on the steaming cup before beginning to sip gently. She pulled out a small long pouch, which she unraveled, and from it she pulled a silver pipe of some sort. He looked at it quizzically as he sipped.

She sat, taking a drink from her cup before wetting her lips and looking critically at the pipe she held in her hand. It was a wooden thing, and he’d rarely seen the like of it before. She took a deep breath and raised the slanted side of the pipe to her mouth, setting her fingers on the holes that ran down the length of it. Blowing gently into the pipe itself, it produced an airy sound, not unpleasant; perhaps a little shrill, but still melodic and light. He could see that this might be an instrument that could be played for dances and other such things, but she played lightly, softly, and much like a lullaby. Whatever song she was playing was certainly having a soporific effect on him. Cullen finished his tea and nestled into the pillows, soft and fluffy as they were. It felt like they were trying to swallow him in softness. Sleep didn’t so much creep up on him as it reached up with gentle hands and pulled him into the Fade as gently as you would cradle an infant.

Fáelán stopped when she had heard his deep even breaths for some time, pulling the pipe back from her mouth and wiping away the spittle that had formed at her lips. Taking a few deep breaths, she waited for her air capacity to return. It was tough to simply leap back into this practice. She hadn’t played since before she’d received her vallaslin. She hadn’t had time for such endeavours since then. She’d been hunting, working or studying. There was much for a young Keeper to learn.

The thought process surfaced and brought a wave of bitterness and anger with it. She grimaced in the relative solitude and pushed it away, refusing to let it affect her.

But of course, the damage was done. The pain had arisen in her core, and while she wanted to snarl her frustration out, she hid it under a mask of normality. She rose to obtain some more firewood, and light a few candles, intending to read until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

 

The morning dawned bright, and Cullen snapped awake as he always did in the morning. His eyes slowly opened, despite his body’s insistence that it was morning and time to awaken, and he blinked back the sleep from them as his vision came into focus.

He didn’t recognize where he was at first, but his memories came flooding back in an instant and he sat up reflexively in the bed that wasn’t his looking for the owner of the downy platform.

She was of course, nowhere to be found.

On the bedside table, there were a few pouches, and a note with his name.

_Cullen,  
this should help. The pouch tied in blue ribbon is for sleep. Brew it as tea. The one tied in green is for headaches and nausea if it assails you through the day. _

_If that is, you really wish for help from an ‘apostate’._

_Dareth shiral Commander_

He shook his head. He couldn’t tell if he’d seriously angered her by accusing her of being a witch or not. She seemed incensed, but at the same time, she wasn’t exactly one who was easily read anyway. It was simply that this time she was perhaps reacting that made him believe that he’d done severe harm.

His eyes turned skyward as he dressed and found his way from her cottage.

_Maker, give me patience with that elf, and may she grant me her forgiveness if I have offended her._

 

 

 


	4. Ch 4

She was dreaming; she had to be. She was tiny, walking between her parents. Her mother spared her a tender glance, her green eyes sparkling with amusement as she looked at her daughter. She carried a wooden staff, as she strode along. She was always good about keeping an eye on the surroundings as well as her curious daughter.

"Mamae!" She pointed at one of the plants in the woodland they walked in. Her mother tucked a lock of white hair behind her ear as her melodic voice proclaimed the name of the plant she was pointing at. Beside them, her father kept his eyes on the woodland. He didn't so much walk as he stalked, his every move was predatory. His odd turquoise eyes gleamed as he kept surveying the surroundings for danger. His black hair was going silver at the temples, but he had an aura of power. He carried a staff of metal, twin spirals entwined around a red gem.

This was her father, the keeper Arnathan Lavellan. His name was legend in the area, and among the Dalish. The lady he had joined with was the lady Anara, a powerful healer, who had been first to another clan, and was now first to clan Lavellan. They had made a powerful pairing, and for it, they were legend in the surrounding areas, at least among their people.

Her father suddenly tensed, gesturing for she and her mother to move behind him.

The scene became a sudden blur of light and sound. When things stopped being a blur, she saw retreating heavily armoured figures leaving the scene. Her mother was staring upwards at the sky. Her pale skin growing more pale as blood pooled around her body. Her eyes were vacant. There was a large gash in her stomach.

"Mamae?" She said plaintively, her heard a small voice speaking when she spoke. Her head turned to see her father, lying on the ground beside her.

"Papae!" She cried. He reached for her. There was a splash of blood across his face. He held her hand and pulled her small body close to his. He whispered into her hair, murmuring reassurances and that she should not be afraid. His hand finally fell away from her as his breath rattled from his throat and she sat up with her eyes full of tears. In front of her, she suddenly saw an approaching creature with a massive sword and plate armour. She screamed again, terrified.

The scene shifted again, this time she was older, her hands held knives. She stood in a grove of trees, in the darkness. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end. Something was hunting her. Her lips pulled back in a snarl. Something was wrong.

She knew how the animals of the forest hunted, and this did not feel like anything from the forest.

" _You aren't a Keeper; you are a wolf born mongrel_." Something whispered around her. She spun, keeping her blades ready to use. " _Your parents brought death and destruction to your clan. You cannot be a Keeper without Magic... And for all that you were promised to be the scion of your Clan; you are nothing but a worthless, useless pathetic attempt at a hunter.”_ The feeling of something _wrong_ persisted, even as she knew that she should know this voice, and should treat it with caution, if not outright disregard. But she also knew that what the voice said wasn’t true.

“Come out where I can see you.” She growled to the air, still keeping her eyes on anything that moved.

“ _You are worth nothing, and you will be banished for your love of the Destroyer._ ” It whispered.

She refused to show fear, not to this. Not ever. She felt her stone covering grow harder, felt her heart harden at the words from the unseen, but some seed of doubt whispered in the back of her mind.

“ _You are wolf born and should have been left out in the cold to die with the rest of your filthy kin!_ ” She saw pinpricks of red eyes growing stronger in the darkness, shining like something that wanted to eat her alive, followed by sharp teeth, ready to rend flesh from bones.

She gritted her teeth suddenly before leaping into the terrifying phantom, bringing her knives down into where it would be.

There was of course, nothing there.

The sound of metal on metal came behind her, and she turned to see a metal clad figure bringing its broadsword down on top of her. Behind it was a floating purple skinned demon of Desire.

She screamed out in fear, the first scream of fear since she saw the images of her parent’s death.

Only to sit up, tangled in her bedroll in a tent in the Hinterlands. Her hair was plastered to her face, and she had to sit and calm herself down before she could untangle herself from her blankets. It was still dark outside as she exited her tent and found her way to the fire, where a red haired dwarf was staring into it on his watch.

“Bad dream Elf?” Varric asked as she sat down across from him on a small rock. She grunted an answer before filling her cup with some of the leftover tea from supper. He gave her a side glance from stone coloured eyes. “You can tell me what it was about, you know. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Like the entire world.” She scoffed over her tea. He shook his head.

“I’d make no stories from your pain.” She surveyed the dwarf carefully as she raised a critical eyebrow at him. He had red hair tied back in a short ponytail. His eyes were steely, and his brocaded red tunic gave a marvelous display of his red chest hair. He wore a scout coat over that, and his beloved repeating crossbow that he called Bianca was never far from his hand.

“And why would you not?” she asked, fixing him with her unblinking gaze. To his credit, the dwarf didn’t flinch but returned her look with a solid one of his own.

“I could tell stories of pain, but people usually prefer epic stories of heroes, or ones that make them laugh. I have written enough tragedies so far to know that you need to weave positive ideas into them so they’re enjoyable. So far all I’ve seen of you is a story that qualifies as ‘crazy’.” Her upper lip twitched.

She took another sip of her tea before she answered. Varric waited patiently. The dwarven storyteller had gathered that if he wanted her to speak, he was going to be waiting for it.

“It was a nightmare. That was all.” She said quietly. The dwarf raised his eyebrows at her, but she didn’t continue.

“You don’t normally scream out words, usually it’s simply screaming.” He said. She made a face.

“This is why I don’t sleep. I do not wish to subject you all too screaming or otherwise.”

“Is this why you work so hard during the day?” he asked watching her face.

“If I’m exhausted, I don’t dream. Once I wake, I see no point in trying to sleep more, there’s work to do. Thus I do it.”

“No one would disagree with you there. It’s also appreciated, that your efforts bring us food most days.” He said, noting that her efforts usually made certain that there was a meal and extra food for any they met that needed it. She gave him a half smile.

“I’m certain the local wildlife doesn’t appreciate it much.” He gave her a half grin.

“No, I’m certain they don’t.” She nodded before lapsing back into silence. “Why did you get so angry at Solas when he tried to put herbs in your food?”

“I do not wish to sleep. He was trying to make that happen. I had asked him not too at one point. He ignored that.”

“Oh. That sounds odd for him. He’s never done anything like that.” Varric said, puzzled. She gave him a wolfish snarl at that comment.

“Apparently he breaks the rules for me.”

“Apparently so.” Varric agreed. He was silent for a time before a thought entered his mind. “Well, even if all your dreams are nightmares, at least you dream.” Her look was sharp as she scanned his face before blinking.

“Oh, right, dwarves and dreaming. I forgot.” He shrugged.

“It’s not something I really know to miss, but from what you suffer threw, I don’t think I’m missing much.” He said.

“My case is somewhat odd. Most people do not have this sort of issue.” She growled her answer into her cup.

“So I see.” He responded. The silence stretched into a place of mild discomfort before he spoke again. “So I hear you’re a scholar.” She answered him without looking up.

“As much as I can be I suppose.”

“Any particular interest?” he asked.

“Everything.”

“That’s a bit of a large topic.”

“I’m aware.”

“I figured.” He responded.

Light was beginning to coat the countryside around them. He tossed a few more pieces of wood onto the fire, before adding some water to a pot and starting it to boil.

“So was there any reason that there were rumours that Curly spent most of the day in your cottage before we left?” Her violet eyes found his.

“Rumours always persist in camps such as Haven, or anywhere else really.” He hid a grin behind his hand.

“Yes, this is true.” He grew serious before pressing more. “What did he want?”

“To try and convince me that Templars were a better choice than the Mages.”

“I take it he didn’t convince you.”

“I don’t like Templars.” She growled. He didn’t push on that obvious sore point.

“I don’t care personally. Whoever closes the sky.” He shrugged. “Hawke chose the Mages too.”

“Wasn’t her sister in the Circle in Kirkwall?” she asked. Varric nodded.

“Kirkwall was a nasty place for mages before the Circles fell. The Circle was a cold place for a mage. Sunshine did not deserve that place, but I agreed with one of our companions. I’d preferred her safe and in the Circle, rather than dead with us because she was an apostate.” Fáelán raised an eyebrow.

“Her name was Sunshine?” Varric chuckled.

“Bethany. I called her Sunshine. I like my nicknames if you’ve noticed. You’re a tough one to figure out though.”

“Oh?” she asked quizzically.

“I don’t know you well enough to pick one yet. You haven’t settled into a position.” Her eyebrows rose and he shrugged in response.

“Just make it a good one, if you must.” He grinned.

“Done.”

“Would you tell me what Kirkwall was like?” she asked. He gave a nostalgic smile.

“Kirkwall is a shithole, but its home. It might be better now that Knight Commander Meredith is gone, but shes still sorta there. Except now she’s a statue.”

“That’s… unnerving.” She responded.

“Tell me about it.” He ran a hand threw his hair before holding the back of his neck, reminiscent of the way that Cullen normally demonstrated he wasn’t comfortable in a situation. “Meredith made life in Kirkwall hellish, for all of us. It was bad enough that something needed to be done, but I don’t know that Ander’s way of dealing with it really helped. It got pretty bad before I left. It’s probably not gotten better, given that Starkhaven invaded after Anders blew up the Chantry and Hawke didn’t kill him for it. They were rebuilding when I left.” He sighed.

“I’m sorry for asking.” She said quietly. “I didn’t realize so much had happened, I had hoped that it was some bad mixed with some happy memories for you.” His hand came off his neck and rested back on his knee as he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. Lots of it is good. But it was far duller without Hawke and our friends around. Now I’m here, and if I ever get back to Kirkwall, I’ll worry about it then. It just became a ridiculous shit show towards the end. It started all of this mess, and now Im part of the organisation that is helping to clean up some of the bigger pieces of the mess.”

“I suppose.” She heard the rustling of the rest of their companions and nodded to the dwarf before she rose and obtained some of their dried and salted supplies that would serve as their breakfast.

‡

She ignored the Commander when he suggested that she go contact the Templars again, especially when it became clear that something was wrong in ways that were far too convenient for another power. Venatori agents were not going to gain control of a significant amount of magical power if she had anything to say about it.

Cullen watched her ride away with an irked look carved into his face. He really didn’t like this plan. The sense that had been engrained into him from so long being a Templar said that this would be an idea that only gave them a significant amount of trouble later on. He wished that he had been able to change her mind, but even as he looked to Cassandra for her help, he found that she didn’t care much either, just that someone made a decision. She had made it, now everyone had to live with it.

He prayed that it wouldn’t end in their deaths.

 

The horn sounded out a few days later. They were back. He and the rest of the advisors found vantage points to watch the approaching group.

Which they found to be much larger than they expected.

She had taken Varric, and Cassandra, along with a mage from Tevinter who had requested that if they go see the Venatori who had cajoled the Mages in the first place that he be able to come along. Cullen didn’t like the man. He got the sense of mischief that he usually associated with Varric from the man, and the fact he was a tevinter mage didn’t make it better.

Cassandra and Varric rode in on a horse and a pony, respectively, leading a large flock of mages back to Haven. Cassandra reported that the Mages had been made full allies instead of being conscripted. Her pursed lips gave away the fact that she did not agree with the decision at all. Cullen was happy to find someone who agreed with him. From the walls, he found himself seeking the tell tale signs of her white hair and pale skin amongst the riders. He found that she was not in the front column, and as the mages came in, his time was better spent making sure that everyone got to their quarters safely and without any issue.

Considering the fact that a few of the Templar order had joined their ranks, and were not pleased about the Herald’s decision, this became a slight amount tougher than he thought it had any right to be. Thinking back on it however, he reflected that it would have been tough had she brought back the Templars as well. He kept a weathered eye out for her as most of the mages had appeared and been able to find their quarters with little incident.

He heard the horn begin its call again before it was silenced partway through a note. He raced to the fortified walls to see if the scout had been silenced due to death or not, and he found that the man still stood. Instead, the gates were opening again, allowing two horses to enter. Upon the strong forders that entered sat the Tevinter mage and the elven Herald. He got off his horse at the gate, she trotted into the compound some ways before she slid out of the saddle of her horse and handed the reigns to a waiting page.

Some of those assembled didn’t know that the Commander was in hearing distance, and within a few moments of her entering the compound he heard the snide remarks, the derogatory comments that she had informed him still happened. He was astonished to see how many of the troop’s sneered them in earshot, and worse, the pilgrims followed suit. Cullen was embarrassed on her behalf, and mortified that it was his men who said such things. Her words about why she should stay rang clearly in his ears as he watched her ignore them and enter her cottage. He knew she had heard the words, but had never made a movement to glare, or even indicate that she’d heard them at all. Once the door shut on her cottage, Cullen let out a few barked commands that startled everyone around him. His troops snapped to attention, and he had a page take their names for a harsh discussion he was planning on having with them at a later date.

Fáelán called her advisors to the War room for a quick meeting to gather reports and set them to work again. He watched her as she gave them vague answers, scanned reports, and requested that if any of the Mages had issues, they’d come to her. She wouldn’t meet their eyes. She was no less the driven woman they had always known, but he felt like something was wrong.

She left as soon as she’d appeared, leaving them with work to do and him with a nagging feeling of something being wrong with her.

Cullen dealt with the dissenters in his companies, putting most of them on latrine duty for an extra 2 weeks, and a stern talking to that essentially boiled down to the fact that if she did not feel comfortable with the Inquisition, that she wouldn’t stay. The fact that their ‘knife eared Herald’ might walk away terrified all those who had sneered at her. He had threatened worse punishments than latrine duty if he heard anyone call her such a name again, and a few of his informants in the ranks told him that those who had been threatened even started defending her to some of the Pilgrims who disliked elves.

He couldn’t force loyalty to her, but he could at least make certain that she was afforded the respect that she deserved.

Fáelán did what she did best, and once she left the war room, essentially disappeared in broad daylight. She started by giving both her horse and her hart a good brushing, as well as any treats she could scavenge for them. That alone took her until dark. After that, she spent hours in the practice yards, wielding anything that she could find.

She borrowed a staff and worked with it until the moon shone brightly overhead. She spun it around and around herself until she could do it with her eyes shut. She added in jabs, blocks and an entire routine of defense and offense emerged from what appeared to almost be dancing with a long stick. She worked with Casandra’s dummies, letting the wood in her hands crack against the hardwood of the dummies and the burlap of their padding. She ignored all those around her, barely replying if someone spoke to her, and ignoring those who decided it would be a good idea to stop and stare at the rogue who wielded a staff.

She was clad in the clothes she wore under her armour. A light sleeved tunic, trousers, knee-high boots that she’d had Harrit put together for her, and leather bracers that covered to her fingers. Most of it was black, forest green or violet so deep that she would blend into the darkness. She moved like a shadow, seamlessly shifting from one movement to another.

Having worked with a staff for long enough that her fingers, ribs and legs were bruised from the times where it had slipped and caught her, or simply from how much she was handling it, she shifted locations and set up a target for a bow before finding some arrows and a bow and beginning to empty the quiver into the straw.

“Do you always do this?” a quiet voice asked behind her. Fáelán barely blinked as she let loose the last arrow in the quiver and watched at is flew steady into the target, quite a distance off from where she wanted it be, but still on the target. It had been a long time since she’d shot a bow. This was normally the area of expertise that their young elven rogue Sera was exceptionally proficient at.

She stalked off without a word to the target, some distance away to pull all the arrows from the target before stalking back to where she’d started. She caught a glance of the speaker while she walked back to her starting point, but didn’t answer the Tevinter mage before she regained her position, and began loosing arrows into the target again.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t stop to sleep Dalish.” He said softly.

“I don’t sleep.” She responded, losing an arrow from the bow. The power of the bow propelled the arrow into the target but not into where she had aimed it.

“Is that a phenomenon that happens tonight? Or is it a regular thing?” he asked. Her response was to notch another arrow. “Have you tried some sleeping herbs?” She let the arrow and the string free from her grasp, fixing another arrow into position on the string before the other arrow hit its target.

“They don’t work.” She aimed slightly right of where her mark was.

“What about sleeping spells?” he asked. She let go.

“Don’t bother.” This time the arrow hit the mark dead center. Without pause, she drew another arrow from her quiver and aimed again.

“Why not?” She let it fly, watching as the arrow ended up just shy of where her first arrow had.

“They don’t work either.” Another notched shaft on a bowstring.

“Does anything?” he asked incredulously. The feathered shaft found its mark above the other two arrows that were clustered directly around each other.

“Rest is for the dead.” She responded as she walked over to gather her arrows from the target.

“Or those who’ve got a world to save.” He answered softly. She ignored him, taking up her position again, this time stepping back a few more paces to add more challenge to her work. He sighed and moved beside her.

“Milady Dalish, you have to sleep.” The arrow flew from her bow, finding the target at a lower point than her other batch of arrows had. She notched another, barely blinking and didn’t answer him. When she notched another, he put his hand on the bow, gently pushing it down. She let him move her bow down, and as soon as he let her free brought it up to aim and fired. He rolled his eyes.

“Do you intend to do this until you fall down exhausted?”

“I was thinking until the mages were ready to seal the breach.” She responded. It took him a minute or two of her continuing to shoot the bow at the target before he realized she was joking. His lips pulled up into a small smile before he shook his head. He took a good look at her, the first since they’d met in the Denerium Chantry and he’d asked her to seal the Rift inside the church.

Her eyes were vacant, dull, and blank in ways that he associated with those who were dead, as if she were being haunted. He had a pretty good idea what she was being haunted by, but knew from the short time he’d known her that she’d never admit it. Stepping infront of her, he watched as she lowered the bow. He placed his hand on hers and cursed in fluid Tevene.

“Your hands are like _ice_ Woman!” She blinked slowly at him, and he got the impression of an owl. Unhooking her hands from the bow was a difficult situation, partially because she’d essentially had her fingers locked in that position for so long, also because her hands were so cold. Dully, she let him lead her back to her cottage where he raised a hand and pointed it at the fireplace, lighting one in the cold ashes with his magic. It was late enough that no one was around, and he bundled her in a blanket before he left for the tavern to gather some alcohol for them both. He came back to her sitting in the chair in front of the fire, staring at it. The blanket was left on her bed and she barely looked more alive than those they had seen in the future that was not to be. He nudged a bottle of something at her hand and she took it, not bothering to see what it was, just uncorking it with her teeth and tipping it back into her throat. He watched, astonished as she drank it down like you’d drink water, guzzling the whole bottle before she set it gently down on the floor and got up to do… something, he wasn’t sure what. She was cursing as she did.

“I thought you Tevinter’s had good taste in alcohol.” He clucked his tongue.

“Ah, no. We have good taste in wine, usually. Depending on what you want, we can be very good with our alcohol.” She snorted.

“Well that was akin to piss.” He raised his eyebrow at that response. “ _Tel’abelas_ ” she muttered quietly, moving to her personal effects on a shelf, sifting through them and pulling out a bottle. She walked back to her chair, ignoring the fact she was wobbling. It wasn’t a fact lost on the mage however and he found water in the room an filled her a glass with it. He tried confiscating the new bottle, but she just about bit him when he reached for it. He jerked his hand back as he stared at her. He had noticed that her teeth canines had an oddly unnerving sharpness to them.

“You shouldn’t drink more after that milady.” He suggested quietly.

“Fáelán” she barked.

“Fáelán then” he replied. She sat staring into the fire for a moment longer before uncorking the odd bottle and raising it as if in a toast.

“Never again.” She growled before taking a swig of the stuff. It was obviously strong enough that it pleased her more than the stuff he had brought her, but it was strong enough that she started coughing such that he thought she would choke up a lung. When the fit was finally over, she gave him a grin and offered him the drink. “Never have a drink with a Qunari” she said as he took a decent gulp of the stuff. It _was_ strong. He ended up doing the same thing that she had and almost coughed up a lung. She was sipping at the water he’d gotten for her when he handed her back the bottle. She corked it and placed it beside the empty bottle she’d downed. He let out a soft sigh of relief at that.

“What do you intend to do next?” he asked, taking a swig of the mead he’d borrowed.

“Wait until the Mages are ready, then I’ll go and seal the Breach. Then I can go home.” He nodded at that. “Are you going to go hunt Venatori?” she asked him.

“I wouldn’t let them go if I had a choice. They’re the type that makes my homeland unbearable.” She nodded.

“I can see why you’d dislike them.”

They talked for a while, about his homeland, about Tevinter. He answered all the questions she had and more. He enjoyed her thirst for knowledge, even if he thought he might have to re-explain everything to her again when she was sober. They fell into a companionable silence until Dorian got enough courage together to ask a question he’d been dying to ask since she let loose lightning bolts that killed more than a few of Alexius’s creatures.

“You’re mage born, aren’t you.” She didn’t spare him a glance, but continued staring at the fire.

“Whats your definition of that term?” she asked.

“Born of two mages, yet without powers yourself.” He answered.

“Very textbook.” She said, stretching out stiff limbs. “Yes, and you’re the first person to correctly identify that. They all think I’m an untrained apostate.”

“I suppose that makes for uncomfortable relations with the Templars here.” Her responding grunt was more a bestial snarl.

“Cullen was… very insistent that I was incorrect when I informed him I was no mage.” Dorian shrugged.

“Well so long as you don’t hit me with lightning, I don’t really care.”

“Don’t get me angry at you and I won’t.” She responded. There was a pause. “You’re the first to not have it bother.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” He said, sipping the mead. “I’d say your dwarven friend doesn’t care either.”

“He’s a dwarf, mage; I don’t think he gives a tick about Solas’s magic either.”

“Mm, I look forward to getting to know this Solas person.”

“In advance, he’s a grouch, periodically.” She said, sipping water.

“I’ve dealt with worse.” He said. She shrugged. That would be his business, not hers.

“I’m surprised Sera even talks to me someday.” She growled, half to herself and half to the air.

“Is she anti magic?” Dorian asked.

“She’s… let’s just say she’s not too fond of it.”

“Yet she’s still around you?”

“She hasn’t left yet.” Pause. “That I can tell.”

“Are you worried about it?”

“Not overly. I don’t want to be here either; I’ve got a clan to look after.” He paused for a moment.

“Well, I will stick around until this is done. You’ve added Mages to one of the most powerful organizations in the world right now, as full partners, rather than as conscripts. I’m curious how this will end.”

“Yeah, me too.” She responded. They clinked their respective drinks and swallowed whatever liquid they were drinking, sworn to see it till the sky was sealed.


	5. Mercys Crest Does not extend to Rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen consistently puts his foot in his mouth, while Fáelán gives him no chances to apologize.   
> Fáelán discovers that as the Herald, she is incapable of retaining her anonymity. Unfortunately that means rumors in the garrison.

They had the support of the mages now, and she had made it clear that anyone who had issues with it could come see her. When it appeared that no one had issues with it, she began going about her business again. She’d made it clear that she wanted to march on the Breach as soon as the mages were able too. She also made a few rules that set Cullen’s teeth on edge, as well as a few of her companions. She’d made it clear that anyone who got on the cases of the Mages for anything that wasn’t obvious in every way would be severely punished. However, she made it clear that the mages who decided to use this rule against any Templars whom they didn’t like would be as dealt with as firmly as anyone else. She’d made it a rule that anyone who wished to be in contact with their families were absolutely allowed too, and that mages unless they proved to those around them to be a danger would be allowed to have free reign (within reason) of Haven.

To her credit, nothing stopped everyone else in the camp from having exactly the same freedoms, and no one had ever thought to have asked about it, but because the Mages felt like they needed this, she made it clear early that everyone here was a free individual, and not a prisoner of the Inquisition. If they felt that they could bring their families to Haven, they were welcome to it.

It rankled Cassandra, Sera, Iron Bull and Cullen to see her doing such things. But Sera quickly found that the little ones of the families that joined the Inquisition were a bunch of Red Jennies themselves, her ire faded. Somehow in the commotion, Iron Bull suddenly found himself surrounded by curious lads and lasses that had been told that if they wanted to help out their elders, they should approach the Chargers and their leader to see if he could train them at all. His new recruits also sought out Blackwall for advice about how the Wardens handled war, and between Iron Bull and Blackwall, they soon had a small company of younglings who wanted to train in the ways of war and weapons. Cassandra’s ire was drained from her as Fiona’s people formed a committee where they approached Fáelán herself about issues, and she brought the ones she could not solve to her advisors. Cullen of course, worried about possession of so many mages in the face of the Veil ripped apart, but he found that many mages approached him with requests for a few Templars trained to help themselves keep themselves under control, as well as thanks for helping guide those Templars in Haven to not as controlling as others had been in the past.

Her companions were confused at the way that her new allies had somehow managed to foster some form of peace amongst themselves and others, and while their opinions of ‘how’ and ‘why’ it had happened tended to shift, they couldn’t put their fingers on who had managed to put such ideas into the heads of their allies, or how it had all happened at once. Granted the easiest option was to blame Fáelán for the ideas and the ways that it had all managed to work itself out, but her standoffishness made it difficult for her to connect to anyone, how could she have managed to push ideas into people’s heads?

The “who”, “why” and “how” soon didn’t matter, as everyone buried themselves in the work they had given themselves to do. The companions of the Herald had been given some time off as everyone settled into their roles, new or old. Cullen’s troopes improved, and gained additions to their ranks. Leliana still brought in secrets like they were letters, and Josephine still wrapped nobles and titled folk round her fingers like string. They were busy, they liked it. The mages settled in, and things hummed along in ways that others might have been astounded with. The Inquisition was becoming more and more, a force that could not be ignored. While the entire hubbub continued, one pair of hands did not seem to appear. While no one questioned this oddity, they wondered. The intelligent ones sought out Leliana, the Raven Queen did, after all, know just about everything. But in this instance, even her eyes and ears couldn’t keep tabs on her long enough to even figure out where she was. All they knew is that she was still there, even if they couldn’t find her. It didn’t matter though. She’d find them when it was time to leave again, until then; they took advantage of the time off.

 

He felt like he was being watched, but he couldn’t put his finger on by whom, or where they might be watching from. Haven had been coated in a layer of snow that had fallen thick and fast, but now the moon was out, the air was brisk, and he’d returned from a form of meditative prayer that when he found he couldn’t sleep he used to settle his nerves. Whatever good that had done was swiftly been disregarded as his senses told him that he was being watched, and perhaps not simply watched, but _hunted_. The thought bothered him.

Walking back threw the compound they’d claimed as home, Cullen strained his ears to hear footsteps behind him, or anywhere else around him. To his irritation, he heard nothing.

Finally he could stand it no more, and he stopped in the middle of the upper level between Varric’s fire, and the stone staircase that lead down.

“I am not fond of theatrics.”

No response.

Stealthily as he could be, his hand found its way to the small of his back, where he kept a knife hidden in the event he might need it. The action was hidden by his cloak that hid his armour, but he wasn’t sure if the watcher would see that. Covering the movement, he turned slowly, but quick enough that whoever was in the darkness might be more worried about being spotted rather than where his hands would be.

“Come out where I can see you.” He called out. He wasn’t planning on waking those in the cottages surrounding the small square and entryway, and thus spoke quietly enough that the watcher might be able to hear, but none other.

“If you can’t see me already Serah, than perhaps you aren’t looking closely enough.” A voice said, sounding bored. He looked around, searching his surroundings. Nothing.

“Perhaps you should come out of hiding.” He remarked. The voice sighed, sounding for all the world like they were rolling their eyes.

“Perhaps you should look up.”

He looked up in time to see a black covered figure run down a rooftop only to land gracefully and soundlessly in the snow in front of him. They rolled out of the landing, suddenly covered in snow, but the snow they’d dashed aside made more of a sound in its landing than they did. As the figure brushed itself off, he found himself observing them. Black clothing covered their body; a black sash was tied about their waist. They wore a scarf under a hood that had the sides strictly cut back to allow for peripheral vision, but still came down over their forehead as if it were a beak.

“This is your normal evening attire?” he found himself saying dryly as he pushed the knife back into its sheath and crossed his arms.

“This is so neither my nose nor my ears get cold. If any of those who cannot sleep see me in the night, it adds to the mystery of the Inquisition.”

“Or the fear of it.” He retorted. She shrugged, keeping her violet gaze unblinkingly fixed on him.

“I heard you wished to speak to me.” She finally spoke. His brow raised in curiosity.

“Did you now?”

“Well, I heard that you wanted to give me another lecture about the Mages, was I not correct?” Cullen flushed slightly at her words. It had been true that when she returned, he’d wanted to give her a piece of his mind, but as most of the issues that he’d had with her decision of allies had been for the most part resolved, he found that he didn’t have quite the firepower against her argument that he wanted. The flush was quickly replaced with the expression that she usually found suggested that he was in a mood to speak business, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Have you had any issues with them so far?” she interrupted him before he had a chance to lay into her.

“I- err… No.” he said.

“Have they been acting out at all? Have there been rumours of blood magic or demon summoning?”

“No.”

“Then what did you wish to get on my case about Ser Knight Commander?” The title made him bristle, especially when it was dropped from her lips in a sarcastic tone.

“It appears,” he began, and his tone was such that she wondered if he were trying to mimic the ice around them. “that the mages are behaving themselves, and have so far governed themselves in ways that I have had no issue with.”

“Vivienne spoke to you about the idea of some of the troupes being trained as Templars?” Her question caught him off guard. Of course Vivienne had spoken to him about it, but he never would have imagined that she would know about it.

“You… knew about that?” he stammered out. She fixed him with an incredulous look.

“Who do you think suggested it Commander?” at that, his jaw dropped. She continued as if her Commander did not stand slack jawed in front of her. “I have spoken to Fiona about it as well, she agrees. Much as most of the Mages dislike the idea of being watched by Templars again, the fact remains that someone must be there if someone makes a bad decision. There is no way around it.” When he stood staring at her for a while longer, she did roll her eyes. “Close your mouth Commander, it is unbecoming of you.” He drew himself back to attention as if she’d never needed to remind him.

“Was there anything else Commander? Or am I free to continue my patrols as I was doing?”

“Patrols?” he asked. “That is what you call stalking those who walk about at night?”

“I am curious as to why others are awake this late in the evening yes. Perhaps if you’ve noticed, I normally have quiet steps.”

“You were following me.” He accused her.

“There’s no great distance to follow Commander. You walked from the Chantry to here. Haven is small. For all you know I was on the opposite end of the compound and used my eyes to mark your progress.” She scoffed at his worries. He glared at her. Her response was an unblinking stare that for the moment, reminded him uncannily of a hawk. The moment broke when she spoke.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” He turned his eyes away, disliking that he’d been so easily found out and wondering if she’d been able to pluck the thought from his mind.

“What business is it of yours?” he almost snarled, refusing to meet her eyes. He hated that she’d seen him as weak as he had been, despised the fact that this elf had been the one who cared for him while he was horrifically venerable, and hated himself for being weak enough to have needed her help.

She didn’t answer. In fact she stayed silent for long enough that his curiosity won out over his anger and he finally sought out her eyes. Under the hood, her eyes were narrowed, her eyebrows furrowed, but somehow her eyes held a glimmer of something akin to sympathy. She regarded him silently for a few moments more as he fought not to yell at her to answer him, before she shrugged and bowed deeply to him before spinning on her heel and striding away. Somehow he knew what she’d said, almost as if he could sense what she was thinking.

_Fine, Shemlen._

He recoiled from the perceived bitterness that came with the believed thought. In fact, the more he watched her, the more obvious it became that this was probably what she’d been thinking. Her walk was smooth, but somehow stiff. He’d seen plenty of recruits and young Templars move like that when they’d been snubbed, rejected, or dismissed. He had a feeling that she hadn’t been asking to bother him, and from what he’d gleaned of her till now, she was the type who worried about people. Snarling at her had probably offended her and told her that he didn’t trust her, which wasn’t true. He turned to the direction she’d moved in to call her back to apologise, only to see that she wasn’t there anymore. He looked around for her before his shoulders slumped in defeat and he made for his cabin and bed.

He’d apologise tomorrow.

 

She’d left early, taking Bull, Dorian and Blackwall to deal with rifts, darkspawn and the missing scouts on the Storm Coast. She left Cassandra and the Chargers in charge of Bull and Blackwall’s company of recruits, and disappeared into the early morning.

Once he knew he wasn’t going to get a chance to apologise, he cursed, and his eyes turned skywards.

_Maker, give me patience with that **rogue.**_

‡

They hadn’t made much progress, what with every herb that they saw needing to be picked, Dorian bitching about the ocean, Iron Bull making terrible jokes at Dorian’s expense, not to mention Blackwall and Dorian’s incessant bickering. At first, they wondered if she would mind. But her visage was cool; her eyes scanned the countryside for anything that could be useful. For all they knew she wasn’t even paying attention to them.

So they continued, to make up for their leader’s lack of commentary of course.

“Humidity is great and all, but how do you southerners stand this _cold!”_ Dorian cried in an exasperated tone as they took a rest beneath some trees while their ‘fearless leader’ gathered bunches of spindleweed from the beach.

“Aww, what’s the matter mage boy?” asked Iron Bull. “Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies?” his tone turned into a simper at Dorian’s complaining.

“My footsies are _freezing_ , thank you very much.” The mage growled back.

“Quit your whining, you hot house flower.” Blackwall examined the edge on his dagger while he scoffed at Dorian’s plea. His hand suddenly held a whet stone

“What does that make you then? A hairy lummox?” retorted Dorian. Blackwall rolled his eyes as he worked at the edge of his dagger.

“If you say so Mage.”

“I do say so.” Dorian taunted. Iron Bull stood out from under the tree, in the never ending rain that gave the area its name. Leaning on the handle of his great ax he gave them a knowing look.

“So... when are you two going to get into bed together?” They gave him a startled look.

“You have to be joking.” At the same time as Dorian retorted,

“Are you daft?” The two men looked at each other for a moment, before giving each other a displeased look and turning back to whatever it was they were doing. From behind them, a quiet voice snickered. The trio turned to see the elf in her hood, scarf and black hunter coat. Her violet eyes twinkled underneath the modified hood.

“Hey Boss, you finished with the herb requisition?” Iron Bull asked, giving her a small grin. She shrugged in response.

“For now it seems. I’ve combed most of the bank for what I could find, and I found a trail that could be the patrol we’re looking for, if you children have finished arguing.” Her eyes twinkled at that as Dorian opened his mouth to protest before thinking better of it, and Blackwall simply huffed in reply. They started on their march again. Fáelán took the lead, followed by Dorian, Blackwall followed him, and Iron Bull watched their backs. They were silent for a time, before Iron Bull finally figured he should mention something he’d been wondering since they left Haven.

“So Boss, what’s with the get up? Is there a reason for it, or is this what you wear when you come to the Coast?” He wasn’t entirely sure she would answer him, but he figured nothing ventured, nothing gained, and he had nothing to lose by asking.

“I do have to admit Lady Dalish, I am curious by your sudden change in attire choices.” Dorian offered as he walked after her. For a while there was silence except for the snap of twigs under their feet, or the clacking of stones as they were kicked out of the way, and as they ricocheted off other rocks.

“Would it surprise you if I said I didn’t want to be recognized?” she said finally.

“Recognized, Milady?” asked Blackwall.

“As the so called ‘Herald’.” She spat the last word like it was venom on her tongue. The word included so much venom that Blackwall eyed her with concern.

“Isn’t that what you are Milady?” he asked softly. The answer she gave him was to stop dead in mid-step. Once Dorian had extricated himself from her back, and both Blackwall and Iron Bull had managed to side step the impending blockade, she turned incredibly slowly and fixed him with an icy glare. Her violet eyes could have chipped steel apart with their intensity. Her gaze already had a quality of otherworldliness, but this had the hairs on the back of the necks of those assembled stand on end.

“I never wanted to be anyone’s Herald, especially not the God I don’t believe in. I am no one’s herald, and so soon as the Breach is sealed and the rifts are sealed, the ‘Herald’ business defaults to Cassandra, or Leliana. They can fight about it. But I’m gone.” Her glare didn’t soften, but the corners of her eyes tipped upwards as she mentioned that the former hands of the Divine could take her position. Turning away, she walked onward. Blackwall opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but Dorian nudged him and shook his head. This was not a conversation to continue if they planned to keep body parts.

 

They stopped for camp as the sun dipped lower into the sky. Bull disappeared and brought back a goat or two for supper, while Blackwall gathered firewood, and Dorian caught some fish. Faelan started skewering the fish as Bull skinned the goats and passed her some meat to roast over the fire. She moved deftly, removing objects from her pack and turning them into side dishes. From their collective packs, she accumulated cooking vessles and sent Dorian for fresh water to serve for after supper tea. Blackwall passed out dishes as the scent of fish and fresh goat meat drifted on the wind. Each of the crew got a fairly healthy chunk of goat meat, as well as a fish or two, and some of whatever Faelan had managed to glean and prepare. Supper saw her mask pulled down over her throat as she ate with the rest of them. They ate in silence and fell into tents in silence. Dorian took the first watch.

She didn’t bother to try to sleep, but took her bow and her knives and started away into the darkness.

“Where are you going?” asked Dorian with a raised eyebrow.

“Hunting.” She replied, retreating into the darkness of the forest.

“But what about nightfall? What about us?” he asked at her still retreating back.

“Sleep then. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

By this point, she was too far away to respond too without waking the rest of the camp. Dorian started after her, only to feel a hand on his shoulder. Iron Bull stared down at him and shook his head.

“But what if something happens to her?”

“It won’t.” He replied to the mage, keeping a weathered eye on the direction that the elvhen had disappeared in.

“How can you say that?”

“She cant sleep, this is how she tires herself out further. Let her go.”

“But she’s the only one who can close the rifts!” he almost shouted at the big Qunari.

“Yes, that’s true, but do you really think she’d put herself in danger that she knew she couldn’t face alone?” the mage fell silent at the qunari’s comment. “She’s driven, she goes hunting at night for more than just prey, she goes for herbs, she goes for animals, she goes for practice, fun and to see what the land has for us, so she doesn’t need to slow us down when she finds something interesting in our day. Let her go Vint, she’ll let us know if she finds anything.”

Shifts rotated out and in, Dorian fell into his tent and his furs with a yawn, fast asleep after trooping up and down the rocky coast, Blackwall took the next shift, using left over tea from supper to keep himself awake. Iron Bull took the watch after that, noting that there were a few braces of hares for him to do something about when he started. He had the unfortunate creatures skinned, and the meat set in their bags of salt that she brought for precisely that reason of having extra food to store, before he started working on the skins.

He somehow fell asleep before dawn.

A particularly violent crack of the fire awoke the large Qunari from the nap he’d been having on his arm.

“Sleep well?” a voice asked. He looked up to see the elvhen who’d disappeared in the night sipping tea that had been newly steeped.

“Mornin Boss.” He replied, accepting the cup she handed him before eyeing it critically. “This won’t kill me, will it?”

“I kept watch after you slept; you simply forgot to wake me to do it. I have no need to kill you, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He shrugged and took a sip at his tea. It surprised him that the dark liquid was sweet.

“Did you find honey Boss?” she gave him a small grin. “You are the best.” Her response was a wink, and that’s all he needed.

“I found our missing people, tracked them to where they were killed, and figured out who did it.”

“Oh?” he asked, ripping apart a hunk of bread before grabbing at some leftover meat from the night before. “Who did it then?”

“It was a group who call themselves the ‘Blades of Hessarian’.” She answered. “There was a note mentioning something called the Mercy’s Crest, which apparently means if one of us has it, we can approach them about this. I’d like to know why they felt they could murder people because they were on the coast with them.” She grimaced as she spoke, baring pointed teeth.

“What’s this?” asked Blackwall as he emerged from his tent looking slightly disheveled, but showing few other signs of the fact he’d been asleep. He was pulling a comb through his hair as he approached. Fáelán raised her eyebrows while Iron Bull opened his mouth to speak. “Not. A. Word.” He growled quietly, jerking his head in the direction of Dorian’s tent. Fáelán’s look of surprise turned into a grin at the implication that he didn’t want the mage to know he did have a regime for his looks, even if it wasn’t as rigorous as the Tevinter mage’s was. She chuckled slightly as Bull lowered his voice.

“What don’t want the Vint to know you actually are acquainted with hygiene and grooming?” The wind and the crackling fire covered the sound of the hushed conversation, so Dorian would have to have had incredible hearing to have picked up on the conversation.

“His ribbing would only get more obnoxious if he did know I did something about my looks.” Blackwall huffed quietly as he turned the small comb on his beard to get it looking less mussed. Fáelán gave a soft chuckle and Blackwall turned to stare at her. It felt like the first time he’d ever heard her laugh, or give any audible sign that she was amused. Ignoring his stare, she handed him some bread and a piece of meat from the prior night’s supper. He took the hint and tucked in before turning back to the question that he’d started his morning with.

“So Blades of Hessarian slaughtered our men?”

“Appears so,” the elf said around bites of goat and bread. She handed him the letters she had found around the cabin that she’d tracked the solders too. Blackwall looked them over before passing them to the Qunari.

“These men were only following orders. If we could do something about whoever is giving them the orders, we might be able to turn them to a better purpose.”

“They could prove useful to the Inquisition as well Boss.” Iron Bull commented.

“This assumes of course, that they can be reasoned with.” Blackwall pointed out. She stared into her tea for a few moments longer before she answered.

“I already planned to confront them, and I also went and made certain I had this “Mercy’s Crest” the note talks about. But the Inquisition’s people deserve to be avenged. No one should be slaughtered because they were unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Hey Boss, do mind if I ask something?” Iron Bull began. Her eyebrow moved skywards, as her eyes flicked to his. “Well, you’re a Dalish, and you get really angry if we call you “Herald” or something, but not when people who don’t know you call you Herald. Is there any reason to that?” Her other eyebrow rose to join the level of the first. “Also, for all that its clear to us that you don’t want to be here, you go out of your way to help put people on a better path, or to help solve stupid problems that someone else could probably handle, but it’s you who do it yourself, rather than delegating one of the people at the top to fix these problems for you so you can focus on closing rifts so you could leave faster.” She met Bull’s brown eyes steadily, firmly aware that Blackwall had fixed her with a similar look.

“I heard that!” a muffled shout cut threw their silent regard for each other. “Wait until the mage has appeared will you? I want to hear the answer to this.” Amid the shuffling that came from Dorian’s tent as he scampered to get presentable and appear at the fire, Bull snickered as Fáelán rolled her eyes and closing them, her expression suggesting a mild irritation.

“I’m here!” called the mage, planting himself on a stone around the fire before he snatched up a mug for tea and curled his hands around it.

“How’re you doing flower? How are you surviving the freezing cold southern air?” Bull chuckled as Dorian tried to get all of his fingers touching the mug at once, noticing the mage’s badly hidden shivering. Dorian scowled at him.

“I’m fine. How are your big Qunari feet doing?”

“I’ve got good boots. I’m toasty.” Bull flashed him a giant grin as the mage muttered under his breath. Blackwall hid a chuckle at the antics of the two behind his mug of tea.

“Anyway gentlemen.” He said pointedly, looking at the two. Bull still sported a massive grin as Dorian started muttering warming spells over his clothes.

“Right, I rushed into the bitter cold to hear the answer to this question.” Dorian looked at Fáelán attentively. Her expression spoke words that she did not.

_Are you done yet?_

She sighed.

“I don’t believe I’m any sort of Herald. Especially not to the Chantry, or anything that resembles it. But the people who live in parts of the world so torn by war that they’re willing to believe spurious rumour because it’s better than believing they’ve been abandoned, they need someone. They’ve chosen the idea of the ‘Herald of Andraste’, but it’s just a face, and it’s just a name. It can be passed to another if needed. Once the hard part of closing the sky and the rifts is done, then the idea of the Herald being an elf will be forgotten, because suddenly the Herald is a human, whose purpose is to fight back the chaos, and to solve issues no one else who’s job it is to _actually_ care about, is fixing. From there the Inquisition can do what it’s been doing, and they don’t need me anymore.”

“I think they will Fáelán.” Blackwall said softly. “Much as you hate it, that Mark on your hand gives the Inquisition the power to fight against the chaos that threatens these lands.”

“When the mark is something they no longer require, than validity will be found in the prestige of those who made the Inquisition a force to be reckoned with.” She hissed, her tone indicated that it was a topic she did not want to continue on.

“You didn’t answer the rest of my question Boss.” Iron Bull reminded her. “Why don’t you focus on Rifts and getting the Breach closed rather than everyone’s little issues? It just keeps you around here for longer.”

“I’ve been raised as a Keeper. A Keeper protects their clan, and cares for them. I take advantage of the opportunities to practice for when my clan requires me to be their Keeper.”

“Caring for them is one thing,” Dorian interjected. “But you go above and beyond what you need to do to be seen as ‘caring for them’, and I don’t understand why.” She let a long breath out threw her teeth, sounding like a snake as she considered her answer.

“My father taught me that the role of a Keeper is to protect those who cannot protect themselves. But he also taught me that those of other races or faiths deserved the same chances that the Elvhen do, a chance to live a peaceful life in whatever way we choose. I’ve lived through chaos, and I’d like to give other people a chance to maybe raise their children in a peaceful world, without fear. Besides that, to the human world, I’m just an elf. Maybe if I do something they can’t do themselves before I get to return to my Clan, maybe they’ll remember that when they see another elf in their alienages, or on the road, or at the gates seeking to trade with a town. It’s a forlorn hope, but maybe they’ll remember that one of the kin of those elves did something that no human could do. Maybe it’ll mean that they are treated just a little less cruelly by others who normally only see a pair of pointed ears.” She gave a crooked smile as she finished her explanation, but it disappeared under the mug she tipped empty down her throat. She pulled up the scarf from under her chin as Blackwall cleared his throat.

“You don’t think small Milady.”

“If you’ve noticed, Serah, I’m fucking tiny compared to you lot. I might as well think grandly if I’m going to be confused with a twig.” Blackwall and Iron Bull roared with laughter as Dorian snickered into his mug. She dumped the remainder of the pot of tea out into a nearby bit of grass before she dusted her hands and rose. “That’s enough tea boys, we’ve got a patrol to avenge, and I don’t need you lot dipping out to piss while you’re supposed to be watching my back.”

They packed up the small campsite and all their equipment with the speed of a platoon on the march. They packed away edibles and utensils as professionally as any company had been trained, and were ready to go within a quarter of an hour. Fáelán pulled a fancy looking crest she’d requisitioned during the night out from a pouch on her belt and hung it around her neck.

“That’s the Mercy’s Crest?” asked Bull pointing at it. She nodded, her eyes scouring the landscape in front of them for anything that moved. Bull fell into step beside her as she led them towards the camp of the Blades of Hessarian.

“You do realize that your honour code is great and all, but you’re just a tiny little elf in a part of Thedas dominated by humans and their ideas, right?” She nodded. “You do realize that most humans hate your people right?” She nodded again. “Even if you did stay with the Inquisition and played the part of the Herald, they’d still probably find excuses to butcher your people, no matter how much you’ve done for them.”

“No one ever expected that I’d fall out of a hole in the sky, that a Dalish would be the only survivor of the Conclave, or that I’d be able to ever command respect such that I’d be able to approach the Templars or the Mage Rebellion and convince them to be allies to a heretical movement that is standing directly opposite of the most powerful organization uniting most of Thedas. No one expected that anyone would be able to close rifts, or that the Breach might be able to be sealed. No one expected anything like this to ever happen to begin with. Change never happens overnight, but a few people might be able to change the way others think and the way others perceive things. The fact that the Inquisition has gained the respect it has so far is testament to the fact that we are capable of changing perspectives. The fact that you and Dorian are able to work together, despite centuries of hatred between your peoples is another example. The fact that Dorian is even here, when Tevinter is usually content to watch everyone else around itself fall apart, if not actively help that goal is a testament to the idea that a few determined people can begin to change the ruling ideas of the day. I don’t expect perfection; I’m not going to get it. I could die today and I would never see how what I believe and do might contribute to a goal of a Thedas that values peace and equality for everyone. But I can do what I can while I’m here. Maybe my efforts here mean that one day my Clan will be able to trade and be welcomed in Kirkwall, or Starkhaven. For now I can’t keep my Clan safe, so I stick to my principals, and I do things that might make it easier for peoples all over Thedas to accept others.” Bull stared at her with an amused look in his eyes.

“Is this what you tell yourself at night Boss? Or did you come up with that to say when you accept the Golden Halla Statue they give you when you finish sealing the Breach?” He chuckled. The mask hid all her emotions but the ones her eyes showed, and her nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought he’d given her.

“There have been more than a few nights that I had to remind myself why I’m here.” She growled menacingly. He was well practiced at keeping surprise from his face, and barely a twitch gave him away at the sudden shift in her attitude, but as he studied her, it became obvious that it wasn’t him she was snarling at. She glared angrily at the ground, and he could see that there were thoughts that angered her greatly that were quietly rolling around in her head as he waited for her to continue. His curiosity flared, as the Ben-Hassrath operative jumped at the opportunity to learn something about the current de-facto leader of their band, but as he continued to study her while he waited for her to continue, he came up with a few ideas about what might be rolling threw her head, but nothing concrete. He was slightly impressed by the elvhen. She kept her story close to her heart, along with knifes he knew she kept hidden in her clothes, and when she slept, under her pillow. Still glaring, she finally continued with her original statement. “This became another reason to not leave this undone. If I wish to help my people, and those who I may meet in future, leaving the Breach undone in the sky, and the rifts to spit demons to threaten the common folk will only serve to remind people that a Dalish left them to die, instead of helping them.”

“I suppose.” He said lightly.

“Honor is not always easy to use as a justification to put yourself in danger. For now, I use an idea far bigger than myself to make sure I remember to continue to act with honourably.” He gave a silent laugh at that.

“If anyone around me suggests you don’t have honor, I’ll set them straight Boss. I don’t think the average idiot knows what kind of danger this is for all of us, and you’re the only one of us who doesn’t get a rest. So I’m pretty certain that the least we can do is make sure you’re seen the way you are.” Her eyes softened as she looked up from the ground and into his face.

“Thanks Bull.” She said softly, and he realized a little more what she was. Someone who was just as scared as they were, who was the only one who had to make certain no one saw her fear, for fear of the consequences that may arise if she did. He didn’t show her the realization that he’d seen more into what makes her tick but replied equally softly.

“No problem Boss.”

‡

The Blades of Hessarian didn’t attack on sight, thanks to the crest she wore amid the rest of the black clothing. The serpent stone in the pendant gleamed in the half light of the consistently overcast coast, but it was easily seen by those who stared guardedly at them around the compound. Her eyes caught all the movements of the people around the wooded enclosure as she strode up to the tall bearded one who looked pompous enough to be the leader. He noted the Crest at her throat and glared down at the slight elf as she glared up at him with equal intensity as she subtly fingered a throwing knife hidden in her coat.

“So you would challenge the Blades of Hessarian?” He spoke haughtily, as if he were a lord and she a speck of dust on the floor to be looked down upon.

“Does it look like I’m here for any other reason?” she jeered at him before her tone turned into that which barely betrayed her anger. “You killed soldiers of the Inquisition. I will not let this stand.” His expression turned into a mocking sneer.

“You? A little shrimp of an elf? Pheh.” He spat to the side of them. “You want justice? Claim it.” He declared, attacking with a roar.

“Gladly.” She growled, flinging the blade she’d been fingering from her coat and into his chest. “ _Halam sahlin, Shemlen._ ” She hissed between her teeth as a leap over the leader’s form saw her knives out and hacking at his back.

The leader of the Blades wanted to go after the rogue in the mask and the hood, with the flashing eyes, but Blackwall and Iron Bull made themselves the bigger and scarier threats that the leader couldn’t help but deal with first. Dorian and Fáelán dealt with the armoured dogs that came to the protection of the leader as Iron Bull’s axe connected with neck and a head went bouncing between the mage and the rogue. They looked at the head before they simultaneously looked up at Bull.

“Sorry.” He apologised. Fáelán pulled back her hood and her mask and shook the heat out of her hair.

“Well, at least the patrol has been avenged.” She said, before looking up and eying the survivors. “Unless anyone else wants to make trouble?” she growled menacingly. The remaining Blades appeared somewhat surprised with the ferocious looking elf, but said nothing. When they made no move to attack, she sat on one of the benches beside the body of the former leader and pulled out a cloth she sued to clean her blades. One of the Blades approached her.

“Your Worship, the Blades of Hessarian are at your service. If you want eyes on the coast, here we are.” She nodded succinctly.

“Good. I suppose that means you work for the Inquisition now?”

“Well, technically for you, but you’re the Inquisition, so I guess.” He answered. She nodded, satisfied.

“Excellent. I want regular status reports on the situation on the Storm Coast, sent to Commander Cullen with the Inquisition forces. Until otherwise suggested, I want the Blades of Hessarian taking care of any threats that emerge here, and informing the Inquisition if anything is too big for you and your company to handle.”

“As you wish my lady.” She nodded a dismissal.

“Good.” She looked at her companions. “Can we go back to Haven now? I want to soak the cold out of my bones.”

“Count me in for that!” Dorian exclaimed.

“Aww, what’s wrong Vint? Is it too cold for your delicate temperament?”

“Oh stuff it you giant irritating creature.”

“That’s all?” Blackwall asked as they made their way out of the compound. “You usually call me worse when you’re trying to be nice to me.”

“Oh shut up you hairy lummox.”

“See what I mean?” They giggled all the way back to the camp that held the horses, even though they probably should have stopped between the outpost that the Blades of Hessarian had built for themselves and the camp on the outskirts of the Coast.

They found their mounts in the makeshift stable they used when they came to the Coast. The Ferelden forders nickered at their riders as they saw them coming. The horses were dry, thanks to the stable and a blanket or two keeping the constant moisture off. They didn’t like the rain much either, but when they sensed that they were headed back to whatever counted as ‘home’, they seemed eager to go. Saddling their mounts was done in short order, and bidding the requisition officer and the other one who was affectionately termed “the camp muscle”, a good day, they were off and gone in the direction of Haven.

“So what’s up with the commander then?” asked Iron Bull after a while of riding. When no one answered, he clarified who his question had been directed at. “Boss?” she gave him a surprised look.

_Why are you asking me?_

“Well there are rumours you and he know each other… well.” She snorted.

“What’s that?” asked Blackwall.

“Well there have been rumours that the Commander and our lady here,” he nodded to Fáelán. “Are apparently kind of an item.”

“Why do you say that?” the Warden asked, keeping pace with Bull and Fáelán’s horses as they trotted along.

“He’s been seen at her cottage a few times, apparently hasn’t slept in his cabin since the horsemaster showed up. I’ve also heard that whenever she’s gone off, rumours suggest he gets grumpy.”

“You do realise you’re trusting the garrison rumour mill, which will gossip about anything that is remotely interesting, right?” Fáelán’s condescending tone gave away the opinion she had of the quality of the information as useless.

“Hey, I trust my men on this as well. The Chargers have been trained well to infiltrate places and listen to what is being said. If they find anything interesting, they report it back to me. Besides,” he said with a wide grin. “There have been few things of interest that’ve shown up round here. The idea of their beloved Commander finding a someone to keep the bed warm with is something your troupes enjoy the idea of.”

Fáelán rolled her eyes.

“So we have a thing for strapping Templars then milady!” Dorian’s enthusiastic tones made her cringe internally. “You have good taste.” There was a subtle head shake, but no other response came from the elf.

“Ah, let them have it Boss. In the face of the world ending, your men need an outlet. This is as good as any to occupy their mind.” Bull said quietly. She grunted in response.

“What don’t like being the Inquisition’s choice of gossip?” asked Dorian, enjoying the small time he had to rib her. Her look spoke what she did not.

_Do I look like it?_

“It would be less irritating if it wasn’t obvious he disliked me.” She grimaced under her mask.

“Why do you figure he doesn’t like you?” asked Bull.

“Why do you figure he does?” she retorted. Bull shrugged.

“Point, I suppose.”

“My dear, if he’s grumpy when you’re away, it means he misses you.” Dorian flourished as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Or he needs to get laid.” She smirked. There was a slight chuckle amongst the men before Dorian continued.

“That may be true, but that doesn’t explain why he’s grumpy when you’re away.”

“Maybe it’s because he can’t keep an eye on the Dalish apostate.” She snarled quietly. “He’s never believed me when I told him I’m not a mage.”

“Err, you spit lightning when you’re pissed Boss. Took me a while to believe you weren’t a mage too.” Iron Bull chimed in.

“Solas is still worried about what you might be able to do if you wanted to, Milady.” Blackwall added quietly. She snorted again.

“That elf should have figured me out ages ago if it mattered that much to him.” She scowled. “The way he talks, I’m about as dangerous as the Breach, and the priority should not be on closing the damned hole in the sky so much as it should be on figuring out why I don’t react to things the way he thinks I should.”

“Well, you are an anomaly.”

“I’ve yet to attract any demons to anyone, or to the Inquisition, well, more than we already deal with already. I haven’t yet burnt down houses, damaged anyone, or done anything damaging, any more than someone who isn’t considered a potential mage does. Isn’t that what people worry about when it comes to mages? Demonic possession and bringing demons from the Fade to prey on the living?”

“Well yeah, I think so. That’s what the Qun worries about anyway.” Iron Bull answered.

“I suppose its different out here rather than in the North,” Dorian began airily, “But I believe that is what most worry about when it comes to mages, yes.” She turned to him.

“Have I done any of that?”

“Well, beyond the fact that you’re someone who’s so far required to take care of threats to the general populace, which usually means murdering them, I’ve yet to see you damage people or property any more than it needed to be damaged or dealt with.”

“Have I brought demons to bear against people? Do I appear to be possessed at all?” Her eyebrows were arched as she questioned him. He laughed.

“Lady Dalish, we are overrun by demons. I cannot say that you have anything to do with how many there are, or that you are bringing them anywhere. They do not appear to attack Haven, and thus I cannot believe that they are being attracted to you, no more than the rest of the southern Mages you have brought into your fold.”

“I suppose, if they were attracted to you Milady, than they would no doubt attack us while we were away from Haven and in camp, and I’ve yet to see any come directly for us.” Blackwall added.

“That as well.” Dorian grinned. “See then my dear? You are harmless as a new born kitten, whatever the Commander may think.” Iron Bull let out a sharp bark that matched Blackwall’s rumble as she snickered.

“Harmless.’ Yeah right. You and I will spar sometime Dorian, then you’ll see how ‘harmless’ I am.”

“Mage, calling her harmless is like calling a force of nature ‘harmless’, you do know that right?” Blackwall chuckled at him. Dorian looked scandalized.

“I think that’s the point, Warden.” Bull chuckled.

“Someone take the evidence you lot just talked about to Cullen when you get back would you? Maybe he’ll leave me alone if there’s more than one voice saying what I told him already.”

“But enough about you, you little harmless kitten thing, I’m more curious about the Commander and these rumours about the two of you.” Dorian continued. She groaned as Bull chuckled. She’d been hoping he’d forgotten. Blackwall gave her a sympathetic look. She gave Iron Bull a pointed look and jerked her head towards the mage.

 _You’re the one who brought this up, you answer him._ Dorian caught the glance and interjected before Bull could open his mouth.

“No Fáelán, I asked you.” His giant beaming grin might as well have lit up a room.

“I know nothing.” She denied the allegations in monotone.

“Oh come now, that’s not true.” Dorian coaxed. “Why would it be said that he was spending nights at your cabin?”

“Maybe he was drunk.”

“Ah, so you admit that he was there!” Dorian smiled triumphantly. Fáelán started muttering curses viciously under her breath as Bull let out a barrel chested laugh.

“How do you know this information is not from a source that’d been recently concussed and potentially drunk?” she scowled.

“Come now my dear, simply answer the questions and then we can let this rest.” His attempt at cajoling her was not being nearly as successful as he wished it to be.

“Or I can just tell you to piss off and you’ll do as you’re told.”

“When have I ever done that?” he asked, scandalized by the thought of it. “When have I given you the impression that I’d even do as I’m told when I did not wish to do so?”

“Remember when I said I hadn’t done anything to harm people with whatever power I had? Do you want to be one of the first that I _try_ to cause pain too?” she threatened. He laughed at her.

“But then I’d haunt you for hurting this delicate face.”

“Hold still, I’ll break it first, and then it won’t be so delicate anymore.” He nudged his horse into a pace quicker than hers so that he was out of range should she decide to make good on the threat.

“I don’t think so Lady Dalish.” She huffed in irritation at him. Between Blackwall and Bull, they were beginning to be surprised that she hadn’t started sparking yet. “Just answer the questions and I’ll leave you alone Fáelán.”

“Feh. I’ll tell you what the truth is about some of these rumours, but only on one condition.”

“Name it.” Dorian’s eagerness for a good gossip was not even thinly veiled.

“None of this gets added to the rumour mill when we return to Haven.”

“What?” he protested, and was silent when he saw the fierce glare in her eyes. Admitting defeat, he deflated before nodding. “As you wish Lady.” She seemed to sigh with relief as her eyes flicked to the pathway ahead of them.

“He came to speak to me about my choice to approach the mages, not the Templars. He ended up being ill midst conversation. I am a healer; I did what I could to help him get through it.” Her answer did not satisfy Dorian.

“And that is how the rumours started that he spends his nights with you?” The corners of her eyes curled upwards as she looked at him.

“Bull only said that he hadn’t been in his cabin since the Horsemaster showed up. Maybe he’s sleeping in the stables.” Blackwall gave a rusty guffaw at that. Dorian pursed his lips.

“No, because I’m certain our Warden here wouldn’t want to share his bed with another man.” Bull snickered as Blackwall and Fáelán shared a pained glance.

“He stayed one night because he was in no space to get back to his own place, and his troupes didn’t need to see their Commander be hauled back to his own cabin because he couldn’t walk. I did what I thought best for morale. Apparently that means you end up being the gossip monger’s target.” She growled.

“So why is he always grumpy when you’re away?” Pried Dorian.

“How am I supposed to know? I’m never there when he’s grumpy, and it always feels like he’s grumpy with me anyway.” Her retort was rich with exasperation. “Why don’t you ask Iron Bull? His tent is right by where Cullen tends to frequent. Or why not ask Blackwall? He has apparently made the smithy area his haunt. He can see Cullen just as easily as Bull if he puts his mind to it. I’m never there to know. I’ve got a Breach to close and rifts to seal. I could care less if the Commander gets grumpy when I’m away, because as far as I’m concerned, he’s always grumpy. Now do you mind, Serah, before the rest of the ride becomes significantly uncomfortable for you.” She gave the rest of them a worn out glare. “Any more fool questions you’d want answered?” Both Iron Bull and Blackwall shook their heads.

Thankfully, at least for Fáelán, the rest of the ride was mostly quiet, and short.


	6. Insert Foot In Mouth. Again

The first time that any of her advisors saw her when she returned from the Coast was when she requested their presence at a Council. She gave Leliana and Josephine a small smile as they entered, and appeared to not notice the Commander as he stood directly opposite her. Leliana noticed, and arched on of her red eyebrows at the situation, but said nothing.

“What’s the situation?” The elf asked in her quiet way. They spoke in turn, handing her their reports.

“We have a problem that has developed since you were here last Fáelán.” Leliana said once she’ delivered the requested reports.

“Where.”

“In the Fallow Mire.” Fáelán’s gaze found Leliana’s and prompted her to continue. The spymaster gave her the details in short order in answer to the questions that seemed to be fired like bolts from Bianca. “Scout Harding is currently holding the forward camp and providing us with information.” Fáelán’s lips twisted up slightly at the edges.

“Good old Harding. That woman deserves a metal for her work.”

“I will look into it.” Josephine noted the idea on her clipboard and the idea earned her a pleased smile from the elf. What would they do without Josephine? Her eyes snapped to the Commander, who appeared to be off in the distance somewhere. Her eyes twitched for a fraction of a second before she addressed him.

“Commander Rutherford, how soon can we march on the Breach?” His posture suddenly straightened as he looked at her.

“Fiona assures me that the Mages require only a little more time to ready themselves for the assault.” She had to convince herself that snapping at him about the fact that he didn’t have a more concrete answer for her would not do well to help strengthen their working relationship. Instead of a biting remark, she kept silent, nodding in response. She made a mental note that she’d ask Fiona herself and see if the leader had any more detailed information for her.

The meeting had been adjourned soon after, and each of them drifted away and back to whatever they’d been doing. Fáelán made a point to seek out Fiona to ask. The Elvhen mage informed her that her people would probably be ready in a week.

“Make it two.” The rogue had replied. Fiona’s surprise was shown in her reply before Fáelán had clarified. “There are Inquisition forces being held captive. I’d like to be able to go see what the situation is, if not bring them back before I get the Breach fixed.” Fiona had nodded, seeing the logic in her plan.

One less thing that needed to be figured out.

 

It was late. Darkness had fallen over the snow covered area that the Inquisition considered “home”. Fáelán had requested a basin for which she could finally make good on the promise she’d made to herself of a hot soak. She’d gathered snow and set it to melt before heating it. It had taken a good portion of the evening, and she’d finally poured the last of the steaming water into the tub. The cabin she’d claimed as her own smelled like the stocks of herbs that her clan had kept. She’d added herbs to the water and had managed to obtain a tiny amount of scented oil from Leliana. The spymaster had seen the weariness in the elf’s steps, and given her a precious amount of what she herself used to relax for when she finally allowed herself that time to let loose. She added the oil by the drop to the steaming bathwater, the scent in the air beginning to smell like a combination of elfroot, dawn lotus, and crystal grace. It smelled like something that she associated with one of the ladies in Val Royeaux.

No, better.

The scent of Val Royeaux’s people had been overbearingly sweet. It was an overpowering scent of musk, fruit and the odd badly done floral scent. This smelled far gentler; in fact, the way she would have described it was a scent that the Empress would wear. Radiating beauty and power without feeling the need to have the town crier howl it in the town square. It didn’t linger in the air in ways that assaulted the airways. It hung, but wasn’t cloying.

She had hung her armour by the fireplace after carefully treating it for the damp and salt air it had sustained while at the Coast. All of her clothes had been cleaned and were now hanging in various areas around her cabin so they could dry. She was dressed in a thin robe and nothing but her smalls. The fire crackled in the hearth, slowly bringing more snow to a temperature that would help soothe her frozen bones. The robe fluttered as it slid off her shoulders and her thin form and she eased her foot into the hot water with a hiss. The heat crept up her skin and her leg, making her feel as if she was cooking her skin, but somehow she didn’t care. She was relishing the feeling of having even her bones feel warm as a knock sounded at her door.

_You’ve GOT to be joking._ She thought with a low growl as she yanked her leg from the water and pulled the robe hurriedly around herself. She didn’t bother to tie it closed around her frame as she marched to the door and pulled it open, a loosely contained growl on her lips.

Cullen stood there with his fist raised to knock again on the solid wood. Internally she let out a deep sigh. He was _just_ who she wanted to see right now.

“Commander. What a surprise.” She said dryly, wondering if she could tell to piss off now without it being rude or potentially damaging.

“Milady-“he began, before stuttering to a halt. His jaw dropped as he took in the sight before him. Her hair out of the braids she kept it in, crimped, white and hanging down on her shoulder. It was only a shade or two lighter than her skin. She was covered in a light; almost sheer robe that was pulled closed over the majority of her figure, but was still light enough that he could see her muscular figure threw it. The tips of his ears went pink as he realized that she was nude underneath the robe. He caught a passing glance of her skin threw the robe as he focused on her eyes, and staunchly held her gaze. “I –err…” he stuttered, forgetting why he came. She exhaled loudly, closing her eyes for a second before she adjusted her posture, quickly adjusting the robe so that he saw nothing that would make him feel more uncomfortable than he did already. His eyes flicked down over her skin again before they returned to her eyes and refused to move.

“What do you want Commander.” She asked, sinking into her hip. “You’ve interrupted my soak. Get to the point.”

“I apologise for interrupting you Milady.” He stammered out, going a deeper shade of pink as his imagination ran wild at the thought of her soaking.

“Yes, yes.” She breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “So I’ve been interrupted. Why.”

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour the night we met so late. I did not mean to growl at you, you did not deserve it, and I did not behave in a way that is becoming of me.”

“The night me met?” She asked. “Oh, the night you accused me of following you.”

“Y-yes, that one.” He said, going a deeper shade of pink.

“Well, I’m grateful that you said something.” She said, studying him. Under her scrutiny his blush spread up his cheeks and covered his skin. He found it harder and harder to keep his eyes looking at hers. His peripheral vision caught glimpses of her naked form under her robe, and his imagination kept filling in the blanks. He was trying to keep himself from looking down at her to check if his imagination was correct or not. He wondered how she didn’t notice his struggle to keep himself appropriate, or if she did and was just torturing him, and this _was_ getting to be torturous.

“You’re forgiven Commander. Now unless you had anything else you wanted to discuss? Or could I get back to my soak before the water gets cold?”

She was a demon, that was all there was too it. There was no way you could snicker and still sound irritated at the same time and still manage to be the most gorgeous thing he’d seen in ages.

“Not at all Milady. Please enjoy your soak.” He said bowing, amazed that he hadn’t stammered that at out at least, before he made a hasty retreat. She closed the door with a chuckle before she added more water that had heated while she was speaking to the Commander to her tub and eased herself in. Her skin prickled as she got used it and she found herself enjoying the heat and the feeling of being warm.

 

Over the next few days, Cullen threw himself into his work. He was up every morning and training with his men, correcting little things that they had probably been taught but had forgotten, and quietly the barracks wondered what had gotten into him.

He’d woken up each of those days, uncomfortable. His dreams had usually been bad, but recently they’d been worse than usual. Now his withdrawal included her face, and his imagination plagued him both with what he had seen and what he hadn’t seen. It was incredible, he hadn’t even seen that much. The pale skin of her thigh, an exposed collarbone… that was all it apparently took to set his imagination flying, even as he willed it not too. It’d been so long since he’d thought of anyone in such a capacity that would keep him up at night. When he stopped to think about it the idea that it was her who caused such thoughts, the response was nothing short of incredulousness. He’d done nothing but irritate her, and by the Maker, she was _aggravating_. He didn’t bother giving words to his reasons why, because he knew that they were mostly based on irritation and the fact that she enjoyed rubbing him the wrong way. In this case, he turned to his training, and what he knew he could control.

 

They left early. Cullen hadn't seen her since the night where _again,_ he'd walked in on her before she'd gotten into the bath. Maker knew she wouldnt come see him and add to the awkwardness that coloured the air between them.

He was no better. He wouldn't seek her out if his life depended on it.

 

Scout Harding sent back word that the Herald and her team had gotten to the Fallow Mire and were working to establish a foothold for the Inquisition. There were messages that flew in on black wings informing the advisors of what was happening, and what had been done.

Leliana grinned when Cassandra’s message came in. It could only have been Cassandra, the tone was one that no one else could mimic. She spoke of the undead they were fighting, and the fact they’d made contact with one of the Aavar, who surprisingly was not there to attack them. They’d closed a few rifts, and in general had made progress. They were coming back to resupply before they went after the Inquisition’s patrol and the Aavar who had taken them hostage.

They appeared a few days later, soaked to the bone, in leathers that smelled of dankness and damp. The Seeker had hopped off her horse at the gates to Haven, followed by both Solas and Varric. The elf who trailed behind them didn’t make it as far as the gates before she fell off her horse.

Cassandra heard her contact the ground and Solas looked up at the rider less horse as it galloped past him. They both turned to see that the rogue hadn’t stirred from her graceless descent.

“Fáelán, what’s wrong?” Cassandra asked as she rushed over to the fallen pile of elf, leather and metal. Fáelán muttered something about being tired, but as Cassandra helped her sit up her gauntlet came away red. Swearing, the Seeker hauled her up and supported the wounded elf as she attempted to get her legs under her.

“How much blood have you lost?” asked Solas incredulously. Her answer was to give him a silly grin under her mask. He grunted his annoyance as he supported her other side to help get her to camp quicker.

The soldiers who were outside of Haven had been training, but once they saw that their Herald was injured, the training was forgotten as they tried to get answers out of the Herald and her companions. Solas and Cassandra ignored them, but she herself gave a few of them a wink. The veterans amongst them swiftly attributed this to how much blood she’d lost and explained to the others that if she was on the battle field, this would be a lost cause. As it stood, so close to help as she was, this was something she’d probably live from.

Cullen was coming out through the gates as Cassandra and Solas helped her in. He stood aside as they walked her threw.

“Cassandra?” he asked. Her response was a grunt. His eyes sought out the elf that was being supported between them, and she gave him a very attempt lopsided attempt at a grin. He could only see her eyes under her hood and mask but her eyes told him what he couldn’t see. But her eyes wouldn’t focus on him and he could see sweat beading down the exposed skin of her forehead. Happy that Cassandra and Solas had her safely in hand, he shook his head and went out to get his solders back in order. He could ascertain her condition later.

Word spread quickly through the compound about the Herald and her injured state. Discretion was thrown out the window when Cassandra stormed from her cabin and Varric had asked how she was. Cassandra had blown up about how she’d been injured since they sealed the last rift and how she’d been keeping it under wraps to keep moral up.

“So… She’ll be alright?” asked Varric gently, wary of the Seeker whose temper was so easily brought to boil, and usually at him.

“She’s got a raging fever; she’s suffering from blood loss and exhaustion. I think she was wounded during the fight with that Revenant, and kept it quiet till she fell off her horse. She rode the entire way back wounded!” The seeker stopped to glare at the ground before she continued. “But yes, if we give her some time, she should be alright.”

“Are you worried for her Seeker?” Varric asked lightly with a small grin.

“She’s the only hope we have of closing the rifts, so I can assume that that would be obvious Varric.” She responded. Varric continued that small grin that suggested he knew something she did not, and she huffed in annoyance before she turned away. She stomped off to find Adan and his collection of herbal supplies for a few things Solas had asked for. Upon her return, she found that Solas had found most of the supplies he’d asked for in the wounded elvhen’s stocks, but the elf graciously thanked her anyway, swearing that he’d put what she brought to good use first, before sending her away for some rest herself.

Solas was equally angry. He knew that the rogue had exceptional healing skills, and for what it was worth, she _had_ made certain she was travel worthy before they’d ridden back for Haven, but that was a week ago. A week with a bleeding wound that she had done little beyond field dress was intolerable. He knew why she’d done it, why she’d kept the wound secret as long as she had. He had been badly injured in that fight, to the point that Cassandra had to awaken him when he’d passed out from injuries so she could feed him a potion. It had been their last, and he’d needed time to recover. She hadn’t said anything because she knew that he needed to recover first. His magic had been fed into healing himself, and he knew that her Keeper habits meant that she would make sure her ‘clan’ was taken care of first.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

She slept for a few days, waking periodically to eat and do other things, before she found herself back in bed and asleep. Solas didn’t even have to spell or add herbs to her meals to see her asleep for once; she just passed out as soon as her head hit pillows. Her advisors and companions often took turns keeping an eye on her while she slept.

 

“So I heard that you gave her some of your bath oils when she was here last Leliana.” Josephine said, perched on a chair by the sleeping elf. The spymaster for once had her hood back as she sat with her legs crossed on a different chair by the fire.

“Did you see how stiff she was when she came back from the coast? I couldn’t just leave her to whatever she had. I figured she’d want something that made her feel like a person instead of someone we simply send out to fix the world while we’re here doing all the paperwork.”

“I know how much you love that scent. I’m certain she appreciated it.” The diplomat said quietly. Leliana gave her a small smile.

“She did. I found the rest of it returned to my study with something I’m certain she’d made. She’s got a bit of a gift for crafting it seems, or she has found a merchant with a fine eye for such pieces in her travels.”

“What makes you certain she made it?” asked Josephine as Leliana pulled out the gift in question. It was a carved serpent stone on a leather thong. Simple, and yet the way it’d been cut was such that it made the simple carving seem lifelike. It had been carved into a leaf, which matched the serpent stone’s green colour perfectly. It hadn’t been finished well, but she assumed that that was a function of always being on the move and having limited time or tools to make it a piece that matched the quality of others.

“Serpent stone is commonly found on the Coast, and from what I’ve managed to hear of her, she doesn’t sleep much. She has also made inquiry into certain tools made to cut a soft stone like this, and so I can only assume that this piece wasn’t any good for weapons or armour, so she found a different use for it.” Josephine was quite used to Leliana knowing far more than she ever let on, and so wasn’t surprised by her deduction about the activities of their sick rogue.

“She doesn’t sleep?” Josephine asked. Leliana cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Dorian is not overly subtle, and he was quite concerned for her at the time.” Josephine grinned.

“I guess this is when he got back and was discussing things with Cassandra that night?” Leliana returned her friend’s look with a knowing grin of her own.

“You’re learning Jose!” They shared a quiet laugh before Josephine protested.

“It was extraordinarily difficult to miss. They did get fairly loud.”

“That is true.” Leliana gave her a semi-serious look as if she were reconsidering. “Perhaps I should be less impressed than, as it was so well documented.”

“Well, it would be less well documented if your people hadn’t been paying attention.”

“True…” Leliana mused, before catching sight of Josephine’s barely hid giggling before beginning to giggle herself.

A knock at the door stopped the giggling women from continuing. Josephine rose and answered the door.

“Oh, Commander.” She began as Leliana leaned forward in her chair to see who’d been knocking. “Could you not sleep?”

“No, and I figured I’d check on our patient.” He answered gruffly.

“No soaks to interrupt this time Commander?” asked Leliana with a mischievous grin on her lips. Cullen shot her a sharp look before answering.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea about what you’re speaking of.” His gruff tone made Leliana’s grin all the wider and even Josephine had to cover her mouth to keep from embarrassing the commander further. “Of course not sir.” She replied.

“Do you know _everything_?” He asked, exasperated. His arms outstretched in irritation.

“No, of course not.” Leliana answered. Her grin reminded him of a cat that’d caught the canary. “But I aim too.”

“Of course you do.” He scowled. Leliana dusted her hands as she stood and began making her way towards the door. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Off to bed Ser Cullen, I’ve got work to do in the morning, and all the better to leave you some time with the lady.” For a moment Cullen thought she meant Josephine, but noticed fast that Josephine was being ushered out as well. He opened his mouth to protest, but Leliana beat him too it. “Don’t worry Commander, she’s not going to hurt you.” The implications of what Leliana had said rose in his mind as the door clicked shut behind the two women. He heard them giggling as they moved through the snow and back towards their quarters in the Chantry. He growled under his breath as he found himself alone with an unconscious elf that he was certain hated his guts.

He sat in the chair that Josephine had vacated to study her. Her face was fever stained, she was sweating enough that he could see droplets of liquid on her face. There was a bowl beside the bed filled with water, and a cloth. He wetted the cloth and gently placed it on her forehead. Her answering moan was piteous and weak. He wondered how weak she really was. Solas had relayed that she was going to be alright, but that didn’t stop him from wondering, and at some point, worrying that she wouldn’t recover. But as he stopped to think about it, he imagined that the rest of the Inquisition was probably thinking the same thing as well.

He leaned back in the chair and sighed.

“Leliana, you are a terrible person, and even worse of a matchmaker.” He said to the ceiling. “But I’m certain that you’d only see that as something to be proud of.” He said scowling. He looked over at the elf. She looked cosy in her bed. But something about her pale skin told him that she was sick, maybe it was the fact she resembled a sheet of paper with her colour. “And you are impossible. We need you at your best, because the rifts need to be sealed, and the Breach needs to be made stable, and here you are feverish and sick. You take risks we can’t afford, and it’s simply all in a day’s work for you. Now you’re paying the price for it. You have a tendency to make me feel ridiculous, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why it’s _always_ you who manage to see me when I’m weakest, or why you have such a keen sense for when I need help, but I hate that you know, and I hate that you can see threw it. I hate that you’re suddenly in my dreams, that suddenly my nightmares wear your face, and I don’t even know why. I hate that you take unnecessary risks, and I hate that I always seem to make a mess of the simplest things around you. I can’t even apologise for being an idiot without being made to feel like a child. I don’t know what it is about you that cause all this, but I don’t like it.”

The quiet voice in the back of his head began undoing all of the things he was saying as he spoke them.

None of this is her fault. She’s working as hard as she can to do whatever she can, and she takes risks to make certain she can do things better. It’s because of her that the Inquisition is meeting with the success it is. It’s not her fault that she catches you whenever you’re at your weakest point, and it’s not her fault that she wishes to help you threw them. Don’t fault her for the things that simply happen.

A moan from her broke the stupor he was in; it was followed by a strained word that he couldn’t understand, probably elvish. He felt her forehead again, still warm, but less warm than she had started as. She murmured in her sleep and he recognized the look of a fevered nightmare. He’d seen them enough on Templars who he’d bunked with; the lyrium dreams were common to them all. He wondered if this was something she went through often, if this was the reason that it was rumoured that she disliked sleep so much. He wondered if even being here when she awoke would be of any use to her, or if it might make things worse.

He shrugged. He always appreciated it when there were people around when he had such dreams, but he didn’t know if she would be one to appreciate his presence when she awoke.

Whatever seemed to have taken hold of her was apparently getting worse, as the murmuring became more frantic, and she was moving more than she had been. The words were strung together in phrases he didn’t recognize, but he recognized the frantic nature of them. His hand found one of hers before he had consciously considered it, and she held it in her grasp as if it were her only lifeline back to the real world. Perhaps it was at that moment. Her palms were sweaty, as his sometimes were when he awoke from a particularly bad dream, but then again most of her form could be considered damp with sweat.

She wore a dark tunic that was buttoned over her chest and open over where her wound was. Her tossing and turning had exposed the bandage and the flesh around it. He turned a faint pink; this was not something he needed now, not with her already in his dreams. But curiosity took hold as he quickly checked the status of the wound and how it was healing. It wasn’t doing so badly, in his opinion, but the fever still needed to break. The dreams were probably something that indicated being close to out of the woods. But no one could know until she actually did get better.

Moaning continued as he pulled some of her hair away from her forehead. It was damp, like the rest of her hair, and had come undone from the braids she normally kept it in.

“It’s alright Fáelán, you’re safe.” He didn’t figure that would penetrate the Fade to where she was dreaming, but he felt incredibly useless right now. Her dream came to a head all of a sudden as she popped awake, wide eyed and frantic, still speaking words he could hardly catch let alone understand. What he did catch, more than a few times was what sounded like ‘mamae’, and ‘papae’, which he translated loosely as ‘mother and father’, and a few other things, including the common tongue for Templar, and ‘fen’, which he knew from having asked some of his charges while they were in the circle when they’d said it. The ‘templar’ piece unnerved him. He didn’t want to think about what she’d think of him if her dreams had her screaming about Templars.

It took her a few minutes to calm down while he listened to fast breaths move past her teeth. Her grip on his hand didn’t stop, the pressure was as constant as during her dream. Now that she was awake however, he was very uncomfortable. He was holding her hand, and she’d had a nightmare. He hadn’t planned to have been there while she was awake, just while she was asleep so he could check on her and be gone. No one needed to know that he’d been there, especially not her. That plan had gone out the window when she’d awoken. The question was, ‘now what?’ The awkwardness that he’d wanted to avoid now permeated the room. He took a deep breath before he addressed her, deciding to handle this as if he hadn’t been there watching her sleep.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She was still wide eyed, but it felt like her franticness had died down.

“I’m not sure.” She responded quietly. Her voice was soft, and it occurred to Cullen how frail she probably was. First it’d been sickness, now it was nightmares. He recognized how fragile she felt, and how her injury was probably not helping. He’d had similar experiences in the past himself.

“May I ask what the dreams were about?” he asked softly, knowing he was taking a risk. It took her a while to answer. First she looked dazed, which he expected, and as her memories of the dream came back, her dazed look morphed into somewhere between a glare and absolute fury.

“My … cousin… still wishes to cause me harm.” She hissed quietly. He quirked his eyebrow at that but she didn’t respond. Her eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them again, he saw the expression that he was used to seeing about her features. One that was owlish, clear eyed and observant. She’d pushed the worry and fear into the back of her mind to be dealt with later. Naturally, he knew that he wouldn’t get anything further out of her now about what she’d seen in the Fade so he sat back in his chair and waited for a cue to act upon.

“How long have I been out?” she asked. He shook his head.

“I don’t know. I’ve only been here for a little bit. Leliana and Josephine might know better than I.” She shook her head in response.

“I don’t recall Leliana or Josephine being here.” Somewhere in between her question and his answer he noticed that she’d let go of his hand.

“Are you feeling better? With your wound I mean.” He asked, trying to battle back the awkward feeling he was feeling.

“I’ll be better in a day or so. How fare the mages?” she asked, suddenly business minded.

“They could take the Breach tomorrow if you wished for them to do so.” She nodded.

“Good. I’m not sure if I should go back to the Mire and get the rest of the patrol from the Aavar or go seal the Breach.” He thought for a moment.

“Heal first.” He said. She looked at him, a frown upon her face.

“You expected me to do anything else?” He flushed.

“Well, no. But you make me wonder how you actually pay attention to your health.” Her eyebrow went skyward.

“It matters does it?” Her tone was condescending. “I thought that so long as the supposed apostate did right by the inquisisition, and did her duty to seal the rifts and the sky that my existence was basically ignored.” He studied her for a moment.

“You are more than just someone who can seal rifts.” He said carefully. He closed his eyes for a moment. How did he do it, how did he make her annoyed with him by doing nothing except talking to her?

“I suppose, but I also suppose that it depends who is being asked.” He raised a brow in an unasked question. “Your Templars seem to think I am a demon or worse.” She gave a bitter grin as she laid back down on the bed. “The Maker forsaken apostate sent to tear all of Thedas apart.” He noted the unnaturally sharp teeth as she gave the ceiling a poisonous smile. “They don’t like the idea that the Mages are with us, even though we are meant to be allies in this mess. Kirkwall hit Thedas hard.”

“Well it did.” He responded, staring at the ground and not seeing it. This was not a discussion he wished to have.

“Right, I forgot that you were there.” He was silent as she quietly added. “Your reputation preceded you, Knight Commander. You did much to help mages and Templars during that time.” His shocked expression almost made her grin.

“Do I irritate you so?” he burst out. She looked at him. “You always seem angry at me, and I’m never certain what I’ve done.” She considered him for a few minutes.

“You are a Templar, sworn to hunt those who even look like they might hurt others with their magic. Your kind hunt my people, whether they are ‘safe’ or not, and your initial disbelief of my lack of magic allowed the rest of your Templars to believe they were justified in believing the same.” She paused again. “You also have incredibly bad timing, and you tend to irritate me because you assume things are some way, before you ask about it. But you tend to make sure you apologise for what you believe you’ve done wrong, and that proves to me that you are perhaps more honourable than others I have met.” Her owlish gaze silenced the angry protests that rose up in his chest at the declaration that he was a templar. There wasn’t any point in discussing it now. Her gaze may have been owlish, but she was obviously tired again and would probably sleep if he gave her a chance. He shrugged.

“Well, I suppose theres that.” She nodded tiredly. “You should sleep, Milady.”

“Should I go for the Breach first? Or go find our patrol?” she asked with a yawn.

“Seal the Breach.” He said quietly, tucking her in. “The Aavar will keep them alive because they wish to draw you in. You are not strong enough yet to challenge them, and you would fail our people if you went in without being prepared.”

“But they rely on me to rescue them!” she protested, her eyes already drooping towards closed.

“They will know you are coming for them. But if the sky grows bigger than anywhere can handle, there will not be a point to rescuing anyone, because we will all be in danger from demons and things that spin from the Fade.”

“They are there because of me.” She said quietly, partially asleep already.

“And they know you will save them.” He reassured her. Soft snores came instead of a response and he knew that now she slept again.

“Odd little creature” He muttered, giving her a thoughtful look. She was still something he wasn’t sure how to deal with, but that was something they could deal with later. As she slept deeply, if her even breathing and cooler temperature suggested, he stole away into the night.

She recovered quickly, and soon was spooking Haven as she tended too. She called a council of war after she was fully healed, and Leliana, Cullen and Josephine entered the room, ready to talk business.

Carefully, she drew a knife from her belt and jammed it into the table where the temple of sacred ashes had once stood. Her eyes gleamed over her scarf and beneath the beaked hood. She pulled down the scarf and looked them each in the eye, before declaring;

“Time to seal the Breach.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the Party you thought it'd be.

It was done, it was finished, and now she could go home. She stood with a foot on a ledge as she looked out over the revelers who were celebrating their success below her. She figured that with the Breach sealed, she’d be able to hurry and close all the other rifts before she could go home. Perhaps the Inquisition wouldn’t mind if she took the Hart that Dennit had found for her with her, but she’d ask her former advisors that tomorrow. Tonight was a time for celebration.

She gave the revelers a small grin as she watched them from above, looking imposing and predatory in her mask, hood and black hunter’s coat. They couldn’t see her eyes twinkling, but it probably didn’t matter.

She was _free._

Except that she couldn’t shake the feeling of something ominous in the air. The feeling was off putting. They had sealed the hole in the sky, what more did they want from her? She’d seal the remaining rifts, but what else did they need? It was a few months of work, or so she figured. After that, she was her own woman again, and she could return to her clan, and continue learning of leadership and the care of her clan.

A thought flashed across her mind. A vision of flashing sharp teeth, red eyes and chilling laughter, it was followed by shining vallislin and a staff of wood and fibres. She shuddered visibly, shaking off the ghost of many nightmares.

The sky above was cloudy, overcast at best, but the clouds were wispy instead of fluffy. The area around where the breach had been still spiraled slowly in a haze of green, but it looked far calmer then it had been. She watched the almost lazy movement for a moment before Maryden began playing a lively reel that had the people of Haven dancing and singing raucously. She grinned under her mask as Minaeve even managed to coax the steadfastly stubborn Adan onto his feet and into the dance. The elvhen had been trying for the last few hours to pull him into the movements, but he’d consistently refused. He was also unsteady from the amount of drink he’d consumed, so that might have something to do with it.

There was the sound of footsteps behind her and she tweaked her head over her shoulder to hear the approaching figure better. The wisp of metal over metal combined with leather told her it was the Seeker.

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory.” The elf nodded slightly, indicating she’d heard what the Seeker had said. “Word of your heroism has spread.” That brought a scoff as a response.

“I did very little but flail my hand at a hole in the sky Cassandra, as you well know. This was not me; this was all of us, the Mages, Jose, Leliana, the Commander and all the rest of you. I just managed to throw my hand at the sky and have it do something.” The seeker crossed her arms and regarded the elvhen carefully.

“Yet it was you at the center of it.” She could tell that the elf was giving her a grimace before she snorted.

“Some luck I’ve got.”

“A strange kind of luck, I’m not sure if we need more of it or less.” Cassandra uncrossed her arms and turned to the revelers below them, just missing the exaggerated eye roll from the rogue.

“Well, it won’t matter once the rifts are sealed. You can be the “Herald of Andraste” to the masses at that point; I’ve got a Clan to care for.” The Seeker rounded on her incredulously.

“You’re going to leave?”

“After the rifts are closed, yes. The breach is closed, demons are something the Inquisition can handle, you will not need me. You require a ‘Herald’, and that is not me. It has never been me. I was not saved by Andraste, and I am no one’s Herald. You and Leliana are far better choices than I ever was if there ever was someone who needed to be a ‘Herald’ who is devoted to the Chantry.”

“But the people would know! They would know that I am not the Herald! The Herald is known to be a Dalish elf!” cried Cassandra angrily.

“Is she?” Fáelán’s eyes twinkled under the hood. “Why do you think that the rumours are starting to shift? The stories being told in Redcliff are ones of a Herald who called a protector to her service. A shadow cloaked in black with eyes sharp enough to strike sparks from steel, who disappears in a flash of smoke and strikes down demons with the Herald’s blessing. They say she is the Maker’s Blade, and that she walked from the Void to right a past wrong. Perhaps it is Maferath himself returning to right his wrongs against Andraste? Some have said it is one of the seven Magisters who started the blight, come back from the Void to attempt to find peace in the Maker’s light. They all agree on one thing however, that the Herald is protected by something otherworldly, with a blade of poison, who strikes down demons from the shadows in the brightest lights.” Cassandra gaped at the elf.

“Did you start those rumours?”

“No, I just built on what was there already.” She gave the woman a wink. “Varric helped.” Casandra growled under her breath.

“Of course he did.” A soft chuckle brought Cassandra’s eyes back up to see Fáelán obviously grinning at her.

“I asked for help because I wanted people to stop making it so difficult for me to be myself. I am an elf who was at the wrong place and was the only one left in an explosion that killed a lady who was beloved of Thedas. I then allied the power working to bring order back to Thedas with the Mages that so many believe caused her murder. The fact I can seal rifts does nothing to make people hate you less when you are somehow still alive after everything that people believe you’ve done, or are responsible for. I don’t want to be a Herald. I have seen what hate does, and I want none of that brought down upon my head, or the heads of those around me. You would be a far better Herald than I could ever be, and when this is over, I’m pretty damn certain that you would treat people fairly with the Herald status. You would also be able to give people answers that they’d believe. They won’t believe the same from me.”

“I –err… Oh.” Cassandra said. Fáelán watched as what she said fell into place within the Seeker’s mind on her face. “I suppose that what you say is true.” She nodded slowly. “We can discuss this at a later time, but regardless, you are correct. This was a victory of alliance, one of the few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.” Fáelán nodded again.

“How about peace?”

“That might be more difficult than you think Fáelán.”

“Perhaps.” She began, turning to Cassandra with an obvious grin beneath the mask. “But they all told you that I was guilty and the Breach could not be closed too, didn’t they?” The seeker laughed.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“There is one thing that’s bothering me though.” Fáelán said, turning to watch the revelers spin each other around the fire.

“What might that be?”

“It feels like something is …wrong. The feeling has been getting stronger since we sealed the sky, and I can’t help but get the sense of an approaching…danger.”

A ringing bell brought both of them to full attention as the civilians below them stopped their merry making and began milling about in alarm. The soldiers ran to their stations, and Cullen charged out from wherever he had been to shout at anyone gathered in the vicinity.

“There are forces approaching, to arms!” He called out before charging to the gates. The people of Haven who had been dancing below them seemed to freeze. Fáelán pulled back her mask and stepped up onto the stone wall she’d been leaning on.

“Inquisition, get to your homes and prepare for attack! All soldiers, to your posts! Adan, I want the apothecary ready to work at a moment’s notice! Be ready for anything!” the elf snapped out orders that boomed around the courtyard. While most paused to absorb the fact that the slight hooded figure on the wall above them could sound so commanding and loud at the same time, the beat passed as they scattered in a semblance of order to where they’d been ordered to go. Cassandra drew her sword.

“We must get to the gates!” she called, charging forward. Fáelán started moving towards the Chantry to rouse any of her companions who were not already aware of the situation, but found Iron Bull already bellowing into the stone building for her. Taking off at a run, Fáelán took a flying leap off the wall and took off at a run towards the gates, followed by all of those who were not already sprinting towards the gates from the tavern.

She had appeared at Cullen’s elbow and was demanding answers before he knew she was there.

“Commander, report.” She barked.

“One watch guard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” She stalked to the gate as she heard Josephine ask more questions.

“Under what banner?”

“None.” Replied Cullen.

“None?” asked Josephine, startled. The gate shook violently as two flashes of light appeared under the wood. An airy voice echoed beyond them.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” She frowned, that didn’t sound like someone wanting to assault Haven. She moved towards the gate and pulled one open. She saw a field of bodies in front of their walls and a heavily armoured axman marching slowly towards them. He stopped, grunting, and Fáelán heard the telltale sound of a blade being pulled from flesh. The axe man fell to the ground, revealing a large brimmed hat. Her eyes took in the odd hat, as well as the rest of the figure, and she cocked her head to the side in a question that remained unasked.

“I’m Cole” the figure began. “I came to warn you, to help.” He corrected himself. “People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know..”

“What is this, what’s going on?” she asked quietly, the urgency obvious in her voice.

“The Templars come to kill you.” He said quietly.

“Templars!?” came a voice, and Cole recoiled like the approaching figure was going to attack him. Fáelán didn’t even realize that Cullen had followed her out to the strange boy. “Is this the order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One.” He turned back to the elf. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” He pulled back and raised his arm to show her a point off in the distance. “There.”

Up past the trees and the snowy bare patches, a rock protruded from the mountain side, it had a perfect view of Haven, and on it stood two figures. One was human, or appeared to be so. The other figure was far taller than a human ought to be, and looked like something she’d seen far too many times in her nightmares. She couldn’t see it well, but she could see the emancipated look of a skeleton, far too bony shoulders and what looked like shards of red pottery embedded in its face.

“Hmm, is that the Elder One?” she heard Cullen ask, but she heard him as if from a distance. She watched the sheen of many helmets approaching, and suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She only barely contained a sudden dry heave that ripped through her middle, and only by force of will pushed it down and stopped any other from appearing. This was why she’d felt like something was wrong. The entire approaching force oozed the feeling of ‘wrongness’.

“Hes very angry you took his mages.” Cole said ominously. She rounded on her advisor.

“Cullen, plan, now. Anything.”

“Haven is no fortress, if we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force, use everything you can.” He said. She nodded vigorously before reaching up to her mouth and using her fingers, let out a piercing whistle. Her hart whinnied and bucked back before leaping over the fence of the enclosure and galloping to her side. She mounted the magnificent animal bareback and drew her daggers from the sheaths on her back. Behind her she heard Cullen addressing his troops. She heard them give a rallying cry and her hart responded, rearing back on its hind legs and giving out a defiant neigh as she rose on her legs with her daggers pointed skyward.

The Mages and the solders dispersed to their posts, and she gave the monstrous creature a small nudge towards the pathways up to the main trebuchet. The hart scooped up some of the approaching templars on his antlers and tossed them onto the icy waters beyond the shoreline before rearing back and kicking any who got too close. She leaned down and started thinning their ranks while her Hart kept the enemy away from her.

Somehow, even as they were under attack, she felt incredibly calm and serene. This was a dance, and she knew the steps better than her enemy did. Recognizing the whistle, she saw that her forder was making himself a nuisance to the enemy as well. Her eyes scanned the area only to spot a few teenagers who’d been out past the gates being chased by Templars. She gave her hart a bit of a nudge in that direction and he neighed as galloped in that direction. The forder answered and followed. Fáelán swung off the hart’s antlers and into the nearest Templar who was seconds away from a swing that would have cut the slowest one in half. Cutting his throat, she gestured to the hart and the forder.

“Go!” she shouted, blocking another attack and swinging around and stabbing another in the chest. The forder and the Hart knelt to take the teenagers who were out of breath or wounded while she dealt with the trio of Templars who’d attacked them. She heard the sound of battle all around her, and the heavy grind of the trebuchet as it fired on the Templars who were still incoming. Iron Bull, and Dorian came barreling by her and she ran along with them.

“The other trebuchet isn’t firing boss!” Bull called to her as he cleaved another attacking enemy in half.

“Lets get some rocks in the air then.” She grinned threw her mask, covering Bull’s side as his heavy swing left him open to another attack.

“I like arrows better! Arrows in their face!” yelled Sera, who’d appeared out of nowhere. Dorian cast a barrier around them as Sera took out another Templar threw the eye.

“Nicely done Sera!” she commended the archer as they charged to the trebuchet. With some of the soldiers of the Inquisition’s help, they kept the waves from becoming overwhelming while one of them wound it up tight and Fáelán kicked the latch open, sending a rock flying into the air and into the mountain. A massive amount of snow came sliding down the rock face, triggering other slides and burying the approaching force of renegade knights. The cloud of white reached as tall as the mountain and Iron Bull laughed out loud as a horn sounded in the distance. Behind them, in Haven, a cheer could be heard in victory.

Fáelán gave a small grin, pulling down her mask to see better and was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of nausea and dizziness. Before she knew it, she was on her knees emptying her stomach out over the ground. Dorian knelt at her side to steady her and she could hear Bull’s voice somewhere.

“Boss? You ok?”

“I don’t like this… Aren’t you supposed to be happy when you win? This is the wrong thing to do now.” Sera said uneasily.

There was a sound building in her head, it started at the edge of hearing, but soon became screamingly painful, and she held her hands over her ears before the sound registered for the rest of them. Something red flashed at the corner of her vision and she opened her eyes to see a flash of red fire streak from the sky and blow up the trebuchet they’d been standing around. Blown back by the impact they pushed themselves upwards and looked skyward to see what had done such a thing.

“That isn’t supposed to be here!” yelled Sera at the sight of rapidly disappearing black wings.

“Is that?” began Dorian, unable to mask the horror in his voice.

“Everyone to the gates!” she choked, still spitting out bile and food bits. Dorian handed her a bottle of water and she used some to rinse her mouth, the rest to guzzle down to keep her throat from burning. She downed it quickly and handed it back, thanking him. She saw Sera, Bull and Dorian down potions and ignored the burning in her legs as they ran back along the path. Blackwall was there smashing boxes in front of the smith’s house, and Harrit disappeared into the burning building and reappeared soon after, moving to the gates. Cassandra was guiding some other stragglers into the heavy wood doors. Blackwall tossed them each potions from a cache and they clipped what they could carry to their belts.

“Hey Dorian.” She said suddenly, finding a staff she hadn’t seen before beside the cache, “better or worse than yours?” she tossed it to him. He weighed it in her hands.

“Yeah, this is more powerful.”

“Good. Can I have your other one then?” she asked. He looked puzzled at the ice staff she’d helped Harrit put together with the large metal bulb on one end and the sharp blade on the other.

“Sure?” he said, tossing it to her. She caught it, weighed it in her hand, and then spun the metal bulb into the helmet of an approaching Templar.

“Oh.” Said Sera. “That makes more sense.”

“Go.” She commanded, holding the enemies back with the swinging bludgeoning end and the wickedly sharp blade on the other. She took quite a few down before no others were left and she charged threw the gate with the rest of them. Cullen closed it behind them with a solid thump, but the solid sound of the wood closing didn’t make up for the incredible pain that came with the roar that the dragon thing emitted. It flew over Haven as they regrouped at the gates. Her vision swam again at the incredible pain that the roaring gave her, but somehow heard Cullen clearly.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry, it’s the only thing will hold against… that _beast_!” he snarled. “At this point, make them work for it.” He told her. She struck the ground with the staff, causing residual magic in the weapon to go off and causing the ice to suddenly form from the blade upon stone. The bulb was starting to crackle with lightning as Cullen saw that her eyes were dark as night, narrowed, and deadly.

“Go.” She barked before addressing her assembled companions. “Make them pay, and may the stones run red with their blood.” She growled. The bulb of metal at the tip of the staff she held was starting to arch lightning around her. “Listen for anyone trapped, and save them. Get those who cannot fight, out.”

“We’re here if you need us Chief!” another voice appeared from the din. The Chargers had arrived for their boss. Fáelán nodded.

“Move!” she shouted, taking off towards the tavern. They split off into two or three, the Chargers took their own path, and the stones of Haven did run red with the blood of those who’d dared to invade their home. Lysette fought valiantly, and Cassandra made certain she was safe. Blackwall rescued Seggrid from the house he was trapped in. Solas got to Nissa before she died from smoke inhalation. Iron Bull picked Minaeve and Adan out from beneath explosive pots and took out a set of Templars with a swing of his viciously situated battle ax. Sera and Varric picked off Templars who wanted to make Therin a corpse and saw she got to the Chantry safely. They took out invaders everywhere, but at the center of it all, probably because they’d invaded to try and do harm to her, was Fáelán. Her knives were sheathed, and she used the staff like a long club and a spear. It didn’t hurt that one end ripped through flesh and froze armour while the other one arched lighting towards the metal clad Templars. It never reached for her companions, and was largely unfocused, but it gave the renegade order something else to be wary of. They did not escape unscathed however, Fáelán at least was thrown into a brick wall and winded by what probably had once been a Templar, and now was a mass of red crystals and armour. They moved back to the Chantry in pieces, Fáelán bringing up the rear.

She waited until all of her companions were inside the building before stopping short of the door. She slammed the staff down hard into the stone of the entryway and light ripped from the bulb of the staff. It was a full blown electrical storm that dazed most of the approaching Templars and blinded the rest. Pulling the staff from the stones, she swung it around at heads and areas easily accessed. Easily taking out 10 of the invaders before a hand reached out from the Chantry doors and dragged her inside the building. She raised the staff again to pull the same trick as she had before only to find that she couldn’t slam it back down on the stone. She reached inside her coat to pull a throwing knife from the sheath, only to find her hand stilled and held against her chest. She let out a roar before she heard someone speaking hurriedly to her in her own tongue.

“ _Hamin Lethallin! Ar lasa tel then! Garas las Lethalin!”_ She blinked a few times before she realised who she was moments away from attacking. Cullen held her still, displaying strength she surprised she wasn’t able to break. His golden eyes observing her carefully as he waited for the bloodlust to release her. His lips were pressed together in a thin line as the only indication he was exerting pressure on her to keep her from injuring him.

Solas hovered at their elbows, his eyes wild and frantic as he searched her gaze for a signal that she wasn’t going to try to kill their commander. She realized that that would have been exactly what she would have tried to do if Solas’s words hadn’t reached her. She had a split second of a downcast look before her eyes found Solas’s, and she took the pressure off Cullen’s straining muscles.

“ _Abelas Solas, ma serannas”_ Her voice was quiet, calm, and Cullen took that as a sign that she wasn’t planning anything else, if the sudden lack of pressure on his arms wasn’t indication enough. She looked at him sheepishly. " _Abelas_ Commander." He nodded.

A sudden flash of white, red and black beside them caught their attention. The boy, Cole supported the chancellor who had so opposed the creation of the inquisition.

"He tried to stop a Templar, the blade went deep. He is going to die."

"Such a charming boy." Roderick retorted wryly. The sad titter that ran through the assembled covered the small quiet hiccup that came from beneath the mask. Varric caught it however, shooting the elf a quick glance. He noticed the glassy and dead eyes; the spark of light had left her.

He recognised that look. It had been the same look in Hawk's eyes when templars had marched Bethany away to the circle, and when the blood mage had stolen her mother from her too. That look was the one that said "I’ve failed".

But she hasn't failed. Nothing she had done was wrong, she had done everything she could for those around her, only to have a dragon attack and Templar's to ravage the people who saw her as a prophet. Varric watched as Cullen told her that the dragon had stolen whatever time she'd gained them. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“It’s an archdemon.” Cole announced. “I’ve seen one before, I was in the Fade, but that was what it looked like.”

“So it’s not only a dragon but a blighted one at that?” asked Dorian. “No wonder it looked like it spat red lyrium fire.”

“I don’t care what it looks like, its cut a path for that army! They’ll kill everyone in Haven.” Spat Cullen.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village, he only wants the Herald.” Cole responded. She pulled down her mask and hood as she looked at Cassandra.

“Well then, I suppose it’s a good thing that no one has official been passed the title then.” Her mild tone made the Seeker narrow her eyes.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t care that he wants me. He’s welcome to want whatever he wants, but he’s not welcome to murder innocent people to get at me, so how do I stop him?”

“It won’t be easy,” Cole replied. “He has a dragon.”

“We know what he-“Cullen broke off in a sigh before turning back to her. “Fáelán, there are no tactics to make this survivable. We could turn the trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“What about our people Cullen? I will not burry Haven to rid us of that thing!” She yelled at him, her sharp teeth bared in a feral grimace.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that chance.” He softened his tone to say this to her, Varric noticed. Which was understandable. She wasn’t fond of being called the “Herald”, had fought it since people had begun to label her as such, and now people who believed in her were being murdered in cold blood while another person hunted her.

She’d confessed to Varric on one occasion that one of the few reasons that she hadn’t left the Inquisition yet was that she was beginning to see the Inquisition as her ‘Clan’, and now it felt like she’d failed them. Inadvertently, she’d managed to bring them danger, and even giving herself up wouldn’t save those who depended on her. The dwarf shook his head, there didn’t seem to be a way out of this.

Or so he thought, until the wounded Chancellor was able to describe a way out for their wounded and the civilians who’d been caught in the middle.

“Cullen, get them out.” She ordered.

“Milady,” the wounded man began as he leaned heavily on Cole’s shoulder. “If the Inquisition is meant for this, if _yo_ u are meant for this, I pray for you.” She gave him a small bow, and Varric caught a glimpse of violet drops that swam with moisture. They closed and he heard her breath deeply as Cullen approached again from ordering his people to follow the Chancellor.

“We have a few of our soldiers loading the trebuchets for you. But what happens to you when the mountain falls?” Her eyes sought his, her gaze was level, if somehow sad. She gave him a half grin before pulling the mask up over her nose again, followed by the hood that fell to the bridge of her nose.

“Just get them out Commander. Get them safe.”

“But-“she shook her head at him, stifling the answer that waited on the edge of his tongue. Turning back to the door, Varric watched as she started mumbling something he could barely catch.

“ _Hahren na melana sahlin, emma ir abelas, souver'inan isala hamin_ -“

Solas apparently understood it, because his ears perked up to hear her quiet speech better.

“You sing the dirge. Why?” She paused.

“A prayer to those who listen for what is yet to come, as well as for those we’ve lost this evening.” She replied quietly before taking a step towards the door.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Varric asked, stepping forwards with Bianca slung over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t be thinking of going out there alone would you?” he asked, giving her a critical knowing look. He couldn’t see the eye roll that she gave the door in front of her, but her eyes were narrowed as she turned to look at them, pulling the mask down as she went.

“I can’t ask you to come with me. I’ve asked for you all to put yourselves in danger for my sake, far too often. I can’t ask you to do it again.”

“Then what are you planning on doing?” Cassandra eyed her with disapproval. She replied with an unnervingly wide grin, like a desire demon has before she pounces on hapless prey. Varric looked at her smile and shivered. Her eyes suddenly held fire, but it was the same sort of fire that Fenris had had in his eyes when faced with battle with slavers. It was comprised of fury and rage, both of which were leashed within an iron grip, but only _just_ leashed. As if they threatened to escape at any moment, and she’d ride the waves no matter the cost. He shuddered again. In anyone else other than Fenris, that sort of look to them usually meant that they didn’t intend to come back.

“Giving them more than they bargained for.” She replied darkly. Cassandra took a minute step back at the suddenly ominous aura that emanated from the elf, but as it was reigned in a second or two later, she regained her ground.

“But you can’t do that alone.” Dorian protested. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, usually a sign that she was losing her patience. She sighed before she crossed her arms and surveyed them.

“You cannot come with me. I forbid it.”

“You can’t-“Blackwall began.

“Yes, I can. You have all pledged yourself to the Inquisition, so why are you not doing as you’ve pledged and protecting it?!” she thundered threw Blackwall’s protests. “Those of you who have sworn yourself to me are ordered to protect the Inquisition!”

They gave each other sheepish looks before Varric piped up.

“That’s not enough of a reason to suggest we abandon you.’” She sighed angrily before fixing him with a pinning stare.

“Fine, Sir Dwarf. Cassandra, you are the former right hand of the divine. You know the Chantry in different ways than Leliana does, and without you the Inquisition has no legitimate foothold to stand on with the Chantry, and thus most of Thedas. You will not come with me. Iron Bull, you lead a company of fine men and women, and between you and Warden Blackwall, are beginning to train a fine new crew of talented youngsters who wish to help. You are also a Ben-Hassrath agent, and the Inquisition would be lost without your spy network. Don’t argue with me. Dorian, you are the only one present who understands the movements of the Venatori, and are a resource we cannot loose. Warden Blackwall, without you we lose access to the Warden treaties, which we will need to combat the threat of a blight, given that this dragon is an Archdemon. Without you we cannot prove we are legitimate, and thus you are too valuable to lose to lyrium monsters. Not to mention the company you are beginning to form into a fighting force. Sera, you keep the Inquisition honest, provide moral support, and have an elaborate network that is on par with both the Ben-Hassrath, and Leliana’s. You are also small enough to potentially end up as a snack for this beast, and I’d rather not have that happen.” She gave the elf a small grin.

“What about me?” asked Varric, mildly put out.

“You Sir are small enough to miss.” A chuckle ran through those assembled, and Varric found himself even throwing a dashing smile out as well.

“Solas,” she continued abruptly, “You are our primary base of knowledge on the Fade, your knowledge and experience surpasses even most of those that Fiona knows about. You are able to give information where none exists and are thus too precious a resource to allow on a mission such as this. Varric, you are one of our few links to the world of the Dwarven Merchant Guild, as well as with your extensive spy network, and perhaps one of the few who can accurately describe the incident in Kirkwall first hand. You are needed with the Inquisition.” Looking around, she saw no helmet with pointed horns and nodded tacitly, having rightly assumed that Lady Vivienne was elsewhere assisting with the evacuation.

Cullen coughed to her right.

“No Commander. You are not coming. I will not lead the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces to battle against a dragon when he has troops to lead elsewhere.” She said sharply. Cullen recoiled like he’d been struck and registered a similar stunned expression. She turned to him and continued in a soft voice. “I trust you to keep the Inquisition safe, and to keep those who go with you safe, where I could not.”

Her eyes were sad, he noted, almost apologetic.

For a moment it looked to Cullen like there was a scared little girl behind violet eyes, who was begging him to do what she had failed to do, and save the people who she could not. There was an air of desperation about her, a feeling that she could trust few others to do what she was asking him to do, and that she felt she was taking a risk by asking at all, but here she was, despite her fear, asking. In a sudden rush of understanding, he nodded solemnly.

“Just, do your best to come back to us, please.” He responded. She gave him a half bow, which he interpreted as ‘I’ll do the best I can, but I promise nothing.”

She turned her eyes back to the rest of her companions.

“I expect the Inquisition to be recovering when I see you again. Until then, get to safety. I’ve got a date with a dragon, and a creature who thinks he can simply walk all over my people.” She gave that terrifyingly sharp and ominous grin again, as she pulled up her mask and experimentally swung the staff in her hand. Sweeping back grandly on her left leg, she bowed to them all. With nary a word, she swept out the door like a shadow holding lightning.

 

If this was what she would die doing, then it would be nothing short of _grand_.

She was a shadow with knives, staff and lightning that she could not direct, but only suggest. She rolled her shoulders back as she stalked threw the burning village of what had once been Haven, seeking the quarry she pursued.

She called upon Andruil the Huntress for her blessing in this hunt, Mythal the Protector, for her help in obtaining justice for those who were unable to obtain it themselves, and Elgar’nan the All Father for his strength to allow her to find vengeance in her hunting.

She lashed out in the darkness against all the enemies that would come against her. In between swiping, dashes, dodges and strikes, she recited the prayer for the dead to keep herself calm. After she’d sung the verses in her mother tongue, she was faced with a small company of Templars who attacked. As she watched them all rush her at once she found herself cackling.

The sound was booming, it echoed off of buildings and around the compound, eventually finding it’s way down to the tunnel that her advisors and companions were using to flee.

Her companions, having rarely if ever heard her laugh, froze as one.

This was not the laughter of joy, or of desperation. This was a fierce sound that carried the ominous aura that Cassandra had been repelled by, and held undercurrents of madness.

It fell silent almost as soon as it had begun.

The silence filled the icy tunnel, and slowly, they started to once again move.

 

Another echo followed them out of the tunnel and into the trees, but this one was far different from the last.

This was a _roar._

It was bestial, feral, sharp and pierced the air more keenly than the shriek of the flying beast circling above could make. They all heard it, even into the thick forest that surrounded Haven, and up onto the mountain. It could only be from one creature, and it made all the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end.

Solas came to a sudden stop before turning and bolting in the direction they’d come. His face was white as a sheet as he barrelled towards Haven, his face twisted into a look somewhere between terror and fury. Dorian, Sera, Blackwall, Iron Bull and Varric looked at each other before taking off after him.

Cassandra’s eyes went skyward for a moment before she drew her sword and followed, muttering something about stupid rogues, mages and people who couldn’t take orders.

Cullen waited a safe distance above the trees, waiting to release a signal flare so they knew it was safe to launch the trebuchet. He saw Cassandra take off after them and saw nothing he could do except wait.

He heard the sound of the roar echo through the valley again and winced. Waiting for the Inquisition to be safely out of the valley, save for the elvhen, and those of their party who were assisting her. He let off the flare and waited. The trebuchet did not fire, but he watched as the dragon landed in the ruins of Haven, and then watched as Iron Bull, Blackwall, Sera, Varric, Dorian and Cassandra wearily climbed back up to where he waited, followed by Solas, who looked like he’d been hit by a bolt of the lightning she couldn’t control.

“Where is she?” he barked. Cassandra whirled around.

“Shes not here?!”

“She said she’d be right behind me!” Solas exclaimed, “She said she just needed to adjust the position of the trebuchet a little more and set it off, and she’d be following me. But the archdemon… There was something else there, with the demon, but… _Fenedhis da’mi! Garas etha lethalin!”_

The sound of tension coming off a load snapped threw the valley with a heavy rock overhead. It slammed into the heavy snow above Haven and began a slide that covered the valley bottom in white clouds and rocks.

The archdemon flew up and away, letting out a screech as it flew out of the valley and mercifully away. With the Inquisition so well hidden in the trees, there was no way it could have seen the retreating people.

Cullen and the elvhen’s companions looked solemnly down on the white bottom of the valley as the clouds of white settled, seeking some sign that she’d gotten out alive. Once the dust had settled, Cullen shook his head and gestured towards the pathway that the civilians and others had left them.

“Come on. We have to regroup. There may still be forces in the area.”

“But what about-“Blackwall began, but found he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“If she is out there, we will find her, shes too strong to let this be the end of her. But we’ll do her no good if we ourselves don’t have somewhere defensible for us to bring her back too.

Varric privately wondered if they really would see her again, but refused to voice the opinion aloud. The sliding rock and heavy snow had looked like a pretty damned final period to the life of the elven Herald of Andraste, but he shrugged and let Sera lean on him as she limped along in the snow. Hawk’s story had looked pretty dire in a lot of places, about as bad as this, if he wanted to be honest with himself, yet somehow she was still the Champion, still a hero, and still alive. He refused to believe that the elf who he’d become fond of would have a tale of her that ended so abruptly. He wasn’t certain it’d be a happy ending, all things considered, but he felt absolutely certain that this would not be the end of it.

Nothing to do but wait for his hunch to be proven wrong, or right.


	8. Chapter 8

Varric’s hunch was correct, but only just so, and Fáelán didn’t know that.

She wasn’t even sure if she still qualified as _alive._

But, she thought, being dead would probably mean she wouldn’t be in such pain. So that left one other option.

She lay on cracked black ice staring up at the hole in the ground she’d leapt threw, that prior to this evening she had never known existed, and yet without it, she’d be buried under tons of snow and rock.

Granted, it hadn’t been a particularly accommodating saviour, she’d bounced off of more than a few beams on her way down, but she was alive, and for now that was all that mattered.

Oh but she _ached._

The blurred rush of blood and battle had died when she’d sent away her companions with a lie on her lips, just as that blighted beast had spat red fire at her. What had walked out of the fire demanding what she’d apparently stolen was burnt into her memories. The screams of those who had lost their lives in the chaos would haunt her already limited sleep for a long while, of that she had no doubt.

This assumed she lived long enough to end up being in a position to sleep at all.

She rolled onto her elbow gingerly, propping herself up so she could roll onto her knees and up. She grunted both with exhaustion and screaming pain as her spinning vision tried to focus on the ice beneath her hands. She studied the white cracks in black ice until they stopped moving and became singular fissures instead of multiple ones. That was a start. Her vision having steadied, she noticed drops of blood spattering onto the ice and while leaning on her uninjured arm, gingerly felt her forehead. There was a nicely bleeding cut, as expected. She began the long process of getting herself up, despite the pain she felt. Once she was standing, and firmly affixed to the wall of the cave, she gave herself a quick pat down to ascertain where exactly her injuries were, and to what extent.

She noted various bruises, potentially broken ribs, more than a few cuts, and probably a fractured wrist. Potentially from the fact she’d been lifted more than half her height in the air and then thrown away from the creature she’d seen on the rocky outcrop before this mess had really happened. She pulled her elbow length inner arm covering out from under her coat, and split it into strips that she used to bind a heavily bleeding wound on her leg, pressed a piece to the cut on her forehead, as well as tie her damaged wrist into some semblance of stable, if for no other reason than it stop screaming in pain.

Although she wasn’t entirely certain if it was the wrist itself, or the mark upon her hand that was causing the agony.

She looked around slowly, searching the debris that had fallen with her for the staff she’d wielded for most of that fight. She didn’t recall falling with it, but if it were here, the bladed end might make keeping her balance easier on the path ahead.

No luck.

So she took a few hesitant steps, clinging to the wall as she negotiated with her body for her balance. It was a painful thing, navigating the cavern. It didn’t take her long to discover how to best place her feet so that she wouldn’t be in such pain as often, but the ice still made it difficult. She moved along the path of ice until it brought her to an open cavern. Something rustled in the distance, and she felt her hand lance with pain as a rift turned the cavern into a demon pit. She didn’t think, she just moved. Balance had been an issue up till now, but battle was a creature that did not wait for you to be ready for it.

It was always odd how whenever she saw battle, her balance no longer was an issue. Battle was a dance, a way of movement, and even a misstep could be turned into an opportunity.

In this one however, she overcompensated for the uneven quality of the cracked ice and rolled her ankle as her hand pulsed with agony and blinding green light. It did… _something…_ but whatever that something was; it meant that there were no demons to fight after the light in the center of the cavern faded. Which left her free to silence the scream that wanted to force its way from her throat, and into the air as her injuries opened again, and her leg collapsed out from under her. She landed with a grunt and bit her lip until she tasted blood to stop from letting out a noise and alerting whatever else might be nearby.

Something black and bladed caught her eye in the corner of the small cavern. She skated across the ice with her good arm and freed it from the crusty snow it was buried under. It was a staff with a cracked gemstone at the top, probably discarded in the evacuation by a mage who’d been fighting. It was of no use to the rogue as a weapon, but it would do as a walking stick. She used the staff as a crutch and found her footing again as she slowly made her way down the pathway guided by litter left by fleeing civilians and an army.

At least her people were alive.

Or had been.

Banishing that thought from her mind, she came to the exit of the cavern, and found bone chilling winds and blowing snow. She took a deep breath to steel herself, and took a step into the wind.

There was no hiding from the cold. The nerves on her skin soon numbed from the ferocious onslaught of winter, and she wished that she’d had something warmer to wear in this blizzard.

She would have liked to have said she’d survived worse, but this was probably about as bad as it got.

She didn’t bother to attempt to find shelter in the sparse trees, as the wind would only serve to turn them into swinging sharp edged weapons that were aimed at her face. No, it would be better to chance blowing snow crystals that wouldn’t swing at you. She pulled her hood further down her face and her scarf until it was just under her eyes and pressed on into the blizzard.

She heard the sound of howling, a pack of wolves in the wilderness. The sound was a comfort, somehow reminding her of an old friend from her Clan. Vetta had always been her protector, and would help her hunt as they grew to the age where the Clan began to require them to contribute.

Her cousin had always hated Vetta, but then again, Vetta couldn’t stand Aerona.

She’d found the wolf as a pup, when she’d slain her mother in anger for taking her kill. She hadn’t realized that the wolf she’d killed was a lonesome mother trying to scrounge for her pups. Upon her realization, she’d found the den and rescued the remaining pup before bringing it back to the Clan. Keeper Deshanna hadn’t approved to begin with, but Shamira had persuaded her otherwise, once Fáelán had sworn that should the pup threaten anyone, she’d slay it herself. She and the grey streaked black canine had become a formidable team when they hunted, as well when they protected the Clan from danger. There were few protests after that.

When she’d left for the Conclave, she’d charged Vetta with protecting her grandmother. The wolf always gotten along with the older elvhen, and considered her part of her pack. Shamira was one of the few she trusted once she’d come to Deshanna’s clan. But Shamira protected her just as Vetta did. Until between the wolf and her own refusal to be seen as a weakling, she’d learned how to be stronger than she’d ever been before. She missed the pup. At night when she worried about everything around her, or the nightmares broke into her mind, she’d think of Vetta, and the memory of the wolf would bring her a sense of peace. Fáelán still remembered the howl that accompanied her as she disappeared into the forest towards a Shemlen village and onto the Conclave that she knew came from Vetta.

She could imagine that the howls she heard now in the wilderness were really Vetta, guiding her to safety, but more likely they were a stray pack in the mountains that’d spotted her and were hoping for an easy meal.

In the state she was now, she’d make easy pickings.

She continued along, even as the wolf howling began to sound as if it were coming from all around her, and the world started to spin. The cracked milky gemstone at the top of the makeshift walking stick crackled slightly with energy, and the hairs on Fáelán’s skin stood on end even as the mark on her hand began to ripple with light and pain.

“ _Fenedhis lasa_ ” she spat under her breath. She knew a fade spell when she walked into it.

It felt recent, this energy. Probably only possible because of the venerable state she was in, which did nothing to calm her nerves, or the intuitive feeling that she _knew_ this particular form of fade spell.

A soft menacing chuckle behind her confirmed her suspicions.

“ _Sal na vena enasalin, Lethalin?”_ the disembodied voice sounded oily threw the wind, and Fáelán gritted her teeth as she concentrated on making her way to the next batch of trees in the storm.

“ _Harellan!”_ the wounded elf stumbled over her feet in the snow, but spat the curse like venom. “ _Tel’abelas, era’harel!”_

She felt the fury of the presence before she saw red unblinking eyes in the corner of her vision, spinning though it was. She spun around, regretting the movement as she let out a sound somewhere between a pained whimper and a growl as her knee paid the price for her movement. She sunk into the snow and tried to steady her head by leaning against the staff for a moment or two. Fáelán knew the trickery that could be played on a mind that was venerable, and what kind of sorcery she was up against in this moment.

Normally she was powerful enough to keep most Fade spells from taking hold, or being a danger to her at all, but at this point, she was extraordinary weak and hadn’t seen this coming.

“So the _Herald_ couldn’t keep her people safe, or her Clan, which I suppose surprises no one, _wolf-born._ ” The voice snarled at her. Fáelán didn’t answer, instead rising slowly and began plodding towards the patch of trees. “You are no Keeper, only a failure, your parent’s greatest failure.”

She winced as her ankle moved in a way that tweaked the swollen joint, but said nothing, only keeping her jaw firmly closed against anything that might spill from it.

“Not going to answer Cousin? Not going to rise to defend your people even?”

In front of her suddenly appeared all the bodies she’d stepped over in Haven. All those broken and bloody skeletons that lay limply in front of her, those who had gotten slashed by Templars, or charred beyond all recognition by dragon fire. They lay in the snow, piled upon one another, but all set up so that she could see their faces clearly. She’d seen them before, drank with them, or listened to their stories. She may have not known all of them by name, but she knew all of their faces, and their stories.

Fáelán stuttered to a stop, trying not to collapse as the weight on her shoulders and her heart increased tenfold. It was one thing to know that the shells of what had once been people lay beneath the snow she’d brought down upon them, it was another thing to see them all laid out before her, as if they’d been placed.

It was too real, and yet, too well manicured to have been real. That fact alone made her begin to pick her way through the corpses in front of her, doing her level best to not burst into tears, even as she knew that it was only an image and not real. She would mourn for those she had not been able to save, and not been able to lay to rest properly when she was safe enough to do so, and not before.

I did all I could, I couldn’t have known what was to happen, echoed in her head as the mantra that kept her from breaking down in the howling wind and sharp icy snow.

“Some Keeper you would be, you will not show respect to your dead. They believed in you _Herald,_ they trusted you, and you lead them to death. I was right to denounce you when I did.”

She kept her mouth shut, refusing to dignify the presence with an answer.

“I will hunt you forever, _wolf-born_ , unto the ends of the worlds. You will never be free of me.”

A low chuckle found its way into the air from the black clad figure that had soundlessly halted in the snow. Her vision was no longer spinning, but perhaps that was because of the sudden burst of anger that lit under her skin.

The presence in the air suddenly felt confused as it bristled over her skin, no longer as painful as it had been when it began this charade, even as it tried to cause her pain.

“Aerona, you forget, as you did then, that I am more than equipped to deal with your poor excuse for a manipulative mind spell. _Dirthara-ma, harellan!_ ”

“What is this?! No!” a piercing scream came from nowhere as white lines began tracing themselves up Fáelán’s arms. They resembled the _vallaslin_ on many of the faces of the Dalish in style, but that was where the similarities ended.

The scream of the unseen antagonist ceased with the wind, and the silvery white lines faded almost as soon as they had appeared. The hunter coat she wore appeared to be entirely unaffected, despite the fact that the lines seemed to have burnt through the leather to be seen.

Taking a deep breath, Fáelán continued on into the darkness, noting that she’d entirely passed the stand of trees she’d been aiming at when her cursed cousin had decided to make herself known, which made her let out a huff of relief. She took another step, wincing at the pain from her swollen, frozen ankle, and grit her teeth to give herself something else to concentrate on.

‡

 

“No!” a voice exclaimed.

“But Sera-“

“No!”

“But why not? You are injured and in pain, I can help!”

“I don’t want you or your elfy magic fingers near me or my leg!”

Beside the two, Dorian sighed. They’d been at it since they’d all managed to find their way to this out of the way valley. He managed to numb a wound on Iron Bull’s back before Varric handed him a compress and a mess of bandages. Surprisingly, the Tevinter seemed to have trouble applying the bandage and the compress, and Varric reached over to lend aid. In front of them, Iron Bull gave Solas and Sera a heavy, but amused look. They were glaring at each other.

“Say Sera, why don’t I get Stiches to take a look at it then?” The small elf looked up at the Qunari with something like fear in her eyes.

“No magic?” she asked.

“No magic. He’ll only use herbs and such to make sure that leg gets set.” Sera gave a small nod.

“Your healer-britches can come take a look I guess.” Solas stared at her agape, somewhere between furious and irritated.

“I’ve said more than a few times that I could work with herbs as well, but you need to sleep either way.”

“No magic!” she yelled.

“Who suggested it’d be magic?” Solas asked slightly, as Bull waved his healer over to the irate pair of elves. Stiches took one look at Sera’s obviously broken leg and sighed before turning to his stocks and pulling out a vial.

“Here, drink this.” He suggested. Sera shook her head vigorously.

“No sleeping drinks.” Stiches looked at the vial and back to her.

“You need rest, and if I work on that leg while you’re awake, you’ll probably kick me. It would be easier if you were asleep and resting so you could get better easier.”

“But I still need to go out there and look for her!” said the elf, still somewhat frantic. Dorian, Varric, Iron Bull and Solas traded discrete glances.

“What do you think?” Varric asked as Dorian finished bandaging their Qunari patient, their voices masked by the arguing of the elves and the healer. Dorian sighed under his breath before answering.

“I can’t say I’m really thinking right now, if I am doing anything, it’d be praying.”

“If I were the praying type, I’d be praying too.” Iron Bull said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Andraste’s flaming arse.” Varric muttered. “Some mess we’ve gotten ourselves into this time.”

The three left the healer’s tent, accompanied by Blackwall who’d had his wounds bandaged and was itching to get out of there as well. They did so silently, as to not attract attention from the elves and the human attending one of them. They found themselves bowls of soup and a pot of tea with some cups that they absconded with and found themselves over at the entrance to the valley they’d claimed for the night.

The cliffs around the valley were pure black, tall, and almost sheer. They were surrounding the valley they’d found and were probably the reason that the valley was not buried in snow. The storm had died soon after they got some distance from the pathway that Roderick had shown them. Once the path had stopped being attacked with snow, they’d been able to find their way to this temporary camp. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t still cold, snowy, not to mention windy inside their rock enclosed haven, but it wasn’t burning, it was currently dragon and red lyrium free. That was a definite bonus over the last place they’d called home, even for a while.

The memory of what they’d seen at Haven still haunted their thoughts. As the humans, Qunari and dwarf sat on rocks and ate their stew in silence, they did what anyone would do in such a situation, they did their best to think of anything rather than what they’d witnessed. This of course worked out as well as it tends too, as such, all they could think of was what they had been through, seen, and whom they potentially might not see again.

Iron Bull took a drink of tea and grimaced as he stared down into the murky liquid in his cup. “Hey Tevinter, do you have any fancy way of keeping the pot of tea warm?” Dorian looked at him before his eyes flicked to the pot and where it was positioned. His lips twitched sideways before he flicked a finger at the pot. A small blue flame sprang up around the bottom of the pot and cradled it. The Qunari blinked, he was impressed but not showing it.

“Admit it Tiny that was a good job.” Varric said before applying another spoon of vegetables to his mouth.

“What makes you think I figure that was a good job?” he asked, downing the small mug in his hands dry.

“You blinked.”

“So?”

“You’re a Qunari Spy, you don’t respond when things affect you. That time you did.” Bull leveled Varric with a steady look, seeking out grey eyes with his own. The dwarf didn’t bother to return the eye contact, instead concentrated on his stew before looking up and raising his eyebrows. Iron bull leaned back and slapped his knee.

“I suppose you’re right Varric… This night was… never covered in training.”

“You can say that again.” Blackwall muttered under his breath.

“What, they didn’t teach Grey Wardens how to deal with dragons? Isn’t that your job?” Dorian mocked sarcastically. Blackwall didn’t take the bait the way Dorian might have wanted.

“I have been recruiting for years. As far as I’m aware, the idea is that you try and evacuate anywhere where the Blight is coming through, and you evacuate anywhere that an archdemon may surface so you avoid civilian casualties. Besides that mage, I don’t think any sort of training prepares you to witness what we did.”

“Ah relax Hero, Sparkler is just letting off steam.” Blackwall just shook his head. Iron Bull was suddenly towering over them as he stood and stretched before he gathered his bowl.

“I’m going back for seconds. Anyone want more?” Bowls were passed over and the giant strode away with them. His massive presence was suddenly apparent, but no one commented about it.

“Fire might be a good idea, its cold out here. If I bring back some wood, can you magic us a fire Sparkler?” Varric scratched his ruddy red covered chest before pushing himself off the rock he’d been using as a stool. Dorian nodded silently and Varric walked away too. The Warden and the Mage sipped warm cups of tea in silence for a while, listening to the wind whistle over the cliffs above and around them, the ambient sounds from the camp within the enclosed plateau and anything else they could while half hoping that they may yet hear footsteps or something to indicate their missing elf might be approaching.

Dorian sighed suddenly.

“Blackwall? I should apologise.” The Warden looked up at the Mage, his expression easily telegraphing surprise.

“What for?” Dorian cleared his throat before continuing.

“While in common thought, the Wardens deal with dragons, theres a significant difference between an Archdemon and a dragon. Besides that, I’m quite certain that none of us have any sort of training that might be able to prepare us for what we’ve had to deal with.” Dorian paused for a moment to sip at his cup and Blackwall waited. “We all feel guilty Ser Warden, and I should have remembered that before I used you as someone to take that fear and guilt out on.” The two sat quietly as Blackwall considered how to respond to this declaration.

“It’s alright Dorian.” Blackwall responded, “If you haven’t noticed already, I’ve grown rather used to being the brunt of your jokes and judgements.” Dorian gave a small smile at that.

“Well, as selfish as you consider those of ‘my kind’, I suppose that tonight we are all of the same kind.”

“And what ‘kind’ would that be?”

“Worried, mourning, guilt ridden, injured, and in shock.” Responded Dorian in a tone that betrayed the hopelessness he felt.

“I’d say that’s an accurate description, and that you’re probably correct. A truce then?” Blackwall asked, only to have Dorian stare at him agape. “Only until we’ve found some semblance of normal again, then we’ll be back to normal. Can’t sit there and make life worse for everyone else around us with our arguing, but can’t let them think that we’re not still unfriendly.” Dorian’s mouth closed and his lips twisted into a devious grin for just long enough to catch the expression before he nodded.

“You may be a hairy lummox Ser Blackwall, but I like the way you think.” Blackwall gave a soft but full throated laugh at that response.

“There’s the Dorian I know. Now would you lend me your magic to perhaps numb this arm a bit? The herbs that Solas gave me are starting to wear off.” He reached over to touch the arm that Blackwall held in the sling and whispered a spell for numbing under his breath. Blackwall sighed in relief and thanked him as Bull came striding back, his hands full of bowls full of steaming stew. He dolled them out before unhooking a pouch from the back of his belt and settling it down in the snow behind the rock he was using to seat himself, and digging into his bowl again, he looked around for Varric.

“Where’s the dwarf?” Bull asked.

“Right here Tiny, and I brought help.” Varric came walking towards them with his arms full of whatever firewood he was able to scrounge, behind him, looking distant came Cullen, his arms enclosing a small bundle of wood as well.

“Commander, pull up a rock.” Bull offered. “It’s a good thing I brought back an extra bowl of soup in case one of us still wished for more food.”

“I’m not hungry, thank you Bull.” Cullen responded absently.

“Curly, eat the stew.” Varric said gently as he set up the pieces of wood off to the side of them in the shape of a fire. He straightened up and dusted his hands before nodding at Dorian who knocked his staff into the ground and watched as a flame began to lick at the arranged pieces of wood. Cullen took a bowl and muttered his thanks.

“So when did Sera and Fáelán get to be so close that Sera would rather go find her rather than get her leg set?” Dorian asked around a spoon full of stew.

“They’ve been getting close for a while.” Varric replied. “They’ve got similar strains of mischievousness.”

“How would you know that?” asked Dorian. Varric gave his bowl a fond smile.

“Who do you think helped them with some of the pranks?”

“Which pranks?” Blackwall asked.

“Well, I had nothing to do with the lizards in Solas’s bedroll.” He responded. Iron Bull, Dorian and Blackwall grinned slightly. Solas had been coldly furious with the archer for a month after that particular incident.

“So which pranks then?” asked Dorian.

“Well, there were a few minor ones, turning your beard white Hero for example, putting tea in Solas’s skins, instead of water, and I think it was Sera alone responsible for putting salt in your cocoa rather than sugar Tiny.”

“She was responsible for that mess? Really?” asked Blackwall. Varric gave a sly grin and a nod.

“Well then.” Dorian remarked, “I have to admit that I didn’t figure out Lady Herald for a prankster.”

“This doesn’t really surprise me.” Iron Bull chortled into his tea. Blackwall rolled his eyes.

“You’re a spy, you probably knew before I did about my beard.” Bull’s response was a chuckle.

“I did.”

“So who came up with the rumours as to her identity then?” Cullen piped up. Four pairs of eyes turned his way, but the Commander barely blinked.

“Rumours?” Blackwall questioned. “What rumours?”

“There have been rumours surrounding the Inquisition for at least the last month. Supposedly we’re harbouring a demon, or a shadow made flesh. According to these rumours, the Herald isn’t a Dalish, she is human and was one of the hands of the Divine, but she is protected by a vengeful spirit, or Maferath returned to safeguard Andraste’s Herald, or a piece of the Void made solid. The reports are varied, apparently it moves in the shadows, or is shadow itself, or isn’t fully solid, real, or what have you. It’s ridiculous, but Josephine has been inundated with letters and questions, both from the general populace, and from houses of nobility.”

The companions traded glances of confusion, before Varric gave the snowy ground under his feet a ghost of a smile.

“Why Commander, you couldn’t believe that any of us were able to come up with any of those. We’ve been busy helping her.” Cullen turned to fix the dwarf with a suspicious glare.

“It was you, wasn’t it Varric?” The dwarf gave a half sitting bow.

“She asked for help, I simply added a bit of a writers flare to ideas she had already.”

“Not to mention the use of your spy network to help spread those rumours around.” Cullen said dryly. Varric pressed a hand over his heart with a pained expression.

“Why Curly, you wound me.”

“I doubt it.” He responded dryly. “What do you mean she asked for help?” Varric shrugged in response.

“You do realize how much she hates the idea of being seen as the Herald right?”

“Why?” Iron Bull, Dorian, Blackwall and Varric stared at him.

“They call me the Herald, and expect me to heal the world. They wonder why one of their own did not end up called Saviour, why one of the knife ears is leading the Inquisition. Shemlen don’t think much of Dalish, so why am I leading others to save them? Why do I have to lead others to war to save a world that doesn’t care for us? I will save them, but I don’t have to be seen doing it.” A voice said quietly out of the shadows to Varric’s right. In between the cracks of the rock, in the shadows cast by monstrous sheered cliffs of black stone, the boy who’d warned them about the Templar attack could be seen.

“It sound like you picked that from her head Kid. That was pretty close to the way she first explained it to me.”

“Her thoughts linger around it. It was easy to find.” Cullen gave a youth a glance between narrowed eyes, instead turning to Varric again.

“This is what she came up with? “

“Well, between the two of us that’s what it ended up being. She donned the mask and began acting the part of the shadow, while Sera and I spread a few ideas into the heads of those around us. Pretty soon she was seen as the Protector of the Herald, rather than the Herald herself. But some of the truth shone through, and so Cassandra was spared the brunt of the reverence even if they didn’t know what to make of Fáelán.” Dorian leaned back onto more cold stone.

“An elaborate ploy, one I feel I should congratulate you on.” Varric shrugged off the praise.

“It won’t matter much if our Herald doesn’t do the impossible again.”

“Ah.” Dorian looked down sadly. “Very true.”

“How long are we going to expect her to do the impossible?” Blackwall asked suddenly. Cullen looked at him.

“Were you volunteering instead Ser Warden?” They glared at each other for a moment or two before Varric interceded.

“At this point gentlemen, let us focus on doing what is possible, and hoping that she can pull threw again. We need the Inquisition united, not at each other’s throats over all this.”

Iron Bull punctuated the awkward silence by throwing another log on the fire.

“Anything you know about this Sampson person Commander?” he asked. Cullen looked at him like he’d been shocked.

“Why?”

“I get the sense we’re gonna have to see him again. So I might as well ask. You seem to have history.”

“I suppose you could say that.” He sighed

“Hang on…” Varric began, his forehead creased in a frown. “Isnt Sampson that templar that used to beg on a corner in Darktown?” Cullen grimaced.

“The very same.”

“Well, shit.” Varric sad back on his stone looking stunned.

“You know of him?” asked Blackwall curiously.

“Yeah, though probably not as much as Curly does.” He tipped his head to acknowledge their Commander before continuing. “Hawk had dealings with him when there was a case of some apostates who’d we’d been trying to find. Turns out he’d sent them to a captain who then tried to sell them to Tevinter.” Dorian shook his head at that comment and Varric continued. “He seemed to be alright I suppose, if a bit scummy. Hawk told me later that she didn’t like the gut instinct she got from him.”

“The Champion always did have a good instinct… About most things anyway.” Cullen remarked.

“Anyway.” Bull prompted

“I shared my room in Kirkwall with him. He seemed a decent sort while he was there, then he got caught smuggling letters between a mage and his sweetheart. The mage got the brand, and Meredith stripped him of his rank.”

“Having someone worth smuggling love notes too was an offence punishable by being made tranquil?” Dorian asked incredulously, his mouth still hanging open in anger and shock.

“There were other mages who got it worse from Meredith for lesser things.” Cullen said darkly. Varric nodded.

“Kirkwall… well, there was a reason that Meredith had to be stopped.” A muscle twitched in Cullen’s jaw. Varric caught his eyes and nodded slowly, an entire conversation taking place in the short period of eye contact. Cullen returned the nod and straightened, seemingly less haunted by his memories, but only just so.

“He became a beggar who used every last copper to buy lyrium. I suppose he periodically helped mages flee before they got into the Circle, but I’m not certain how much he actually helped those who fled. I suppose he probably tried, but who knows what actually happened to them. He appears to retain all of his Templar abilities, but I don’t know what this elder one sees in him. Maker knows that we’ll probably find out.” He sought out the dark liquid in his cup before tipping it back down his throat.

“Right. Renegade Templar, formerly of Kirkwall, apparently a pet of whatever decided to attack Haven in the first place. Well, at least we know what we’re dealing with.” Bull paraphrased.

“Sure, lets go with that.”

 

‡

She kept walking. Perhaps hobbling would be a better way of saying it.

Her skin felt stiff to the touch. The wolves hadn’t stopped howling, but that was still only a mild comfort. Her jaw was beginning to ache with how intensely she was keeping it shut. She continued on, because that was the only thing she could still focus on. Her breath had coated the scarf in front of her nose with white as it passed through the fabric and became ice. Eyelashes had almost become frozen together, and her eyes felt raw from brushing away the ice as it formed and froze her eyes shut. She barely had the strength to continue, but even with the pain that she was starting to either stop feeling, or become so accustomed too that it stopped being felt, it continued to be one of the few things she could focus on.

Lift foot up out of snow; place a little ahead into more snow. Dig staff into snow and use it to steady yourself to do so again, repeat.

It was clumsy at best, but all she needed to do was keep moving, and this accomplished that goal.

 _How much farther?_ She wondered as she worked forward. She wondered if her people were even safe. She hoped they were that she was not venturing into the snow only to find more ruin and bodies.

A wave of vertigo hit her as suddenly as the attack had been, and she reeled on her feet, holding tightly to the staff beside her as if it were the only thing keeping her stable. Even that didn’t help much as it pitched back and forth with her. She fought to keep herself steady to get her balance back and instead of succeeding, found herself on all fours as she fought to keep from pitching further into the snow.

 _Blood loss_ , she thought weakly as the world stopped spinning. Creators above, this was NOT what she needed. Planting the staff down hard, she found one knee to be stable, than the other. She pulled herself up onto her feet again and planted her feet down solidly so that she could keep herself upright. It worked, but only barely. She started walking again, trying to keep her momentum even as her head whirled.

She could not- would not stop.

Not until she found her people, or Falon-din took her to the next realm. There was no choice in the matter. She wouldn’t let herself have a choice in the matter.

‡

Solas found his way to the entrance soon after the mention of Sampson to inform that Sera had gratefully taken the help from Bull’s healer Stitches, but had managed to bite him anyway. Bull had giggled at that. The Fade mage had inquired as to their thoughts on the Herald and had wandered away when he found out that they were as clueless as the rest of the camp. Soon afterwards, Dorian burst from his seat as if he’d been burnt.

“I’m going to look for her. That’s enough waiting.”

“They need to be alright. I have to tell them what I saw. I need to get there to make sure they’re all right. A Keeper takes care of her Clan.” The boy said in his whisper soft tone.

“Can you hear her?” asked Cullen incredulously.

“She’s somewhere nearby.” He responded.

As if they’d been ordered to do so, Dorian, Blackwall, Cullen and the boy in the big hat rose and began walking up the hill together. Varric gave them a thoughtful look before nodding.

“Suppose we’d better go alert the healers that we may have visitors eh Tiny?” The Qunari nodded before giving the retreating others a serious look.

“I suppose you’re right Varric. Assuming they find her at all.”

“They will.”

“How do you know?” Varric gave him a debonair smile.

“Her story isn’t over yet.” Bull only grunted in reply.

‡

She’d fallen again, this time finding her way into a pile of snow larger than she’d been. The howling winds and blowing snow had swiftly covered her as if she’d never been there at all. She’d tried pushing herself back up and going again, but her arms had given out as swiftly as her legs had. She truly had exhausted herself with this whole thing.

_So this is it then? This is where I die._

She was oddly at peace with the idea; even as she fought to raise herself out of the snow and begin her marching through the white again. Her limbs were aching enough that she couldn’t move. Between pain, blood loss and hypothermia, she found she was incapable of doing anything except lie in the frozen grave.

That didn’t mean she didn’t wish to do something more than that.

She willed someone to find her. Her anger at being unable to complete what she’d set out to do filled her insides. But the will to do something is not everything that is needed when your body simply will not respond.

She lay under the snow, watching as small flurries danced around the tiny cavern that she’d carved for her face while she’d been trying to gather strength that would not come to her limbs.

She prayed to all of her gods that somehow she’d be found, or that threw the fade, some spirit would carry her message to someone part of the Inquisition that could understand it.

She didn’t like the idea of dying, but as sleep began to overcome her exhausted body, she found that there wasn’t much of a choice in all of it.

‡

Dorian’s staff was a useful creature in the cold and frozen wasteland. Even without the moonlight, he’d been able to produce a light from the gemstone at the top of it which illuminated everything. The cold light of the moon shone down around them as they crested the hill from the valley, but it didn’t illuminate everything, which is where Dorian’s mage light came in handy.

Blackwall rounded on the boy with the hat as they stood at the top of the plateau beyond the valley and looked for something.

“Have you got any idea where she might be?” The boy paused.

“There’s nothing, just the sound of a heartbeat…and the feeling of cold.” The three men traded glances that bordered on worry and fear. They started out into the plateau, looking for signs of footprints or something that might indicate that she was there.

Blackwall cocked his head to the side as they passed a stand of trees.

“Is that… a mages staff?”

It was indeed a mage’s staff, stuck in a snow bank, glittering darkly in the moonlight. Cullen looked at it, then at Dorian.

“Wasn’t she using one when we left?” Dorian paused as they looked at it.

“Yes.. But it wasn’t that one.”

“Odd.” Blackwall said as he regained his footing from a particularly icy step. “Could one of us have left it as we passed?”

“Maybe” said Dorian, studying it. “It is broken.”

“But could be used as a walking stick if needed.” Cullen said before he started towards it.

“Cold, cold, cold, it’s so quiet outside.” The boy said quietly. Both men turned to stare at him.

“What are you on about now?” Blackwall asked.

“Dorian!” Cullen yelled. All three heads snapped back to the Commander who was kneeling in the snow. The mage rushed over with the Warden closely following. The boy brought up the rear, watching to make certain that Blackwall didn’t fall. Dorian tapped his staff on his boot, causing the gemstone to glow brighter as the Commander pulled snow back from the bank. The mage light helped them see black fabric beneath the white snow, and a black glove that still held to the staff. He unhooked the frozen fingers from their death grip on the metal before rolling over the body of their Herald. The Commander dug in under her and picked her up as gently as he could.

“Is she…?” Blackwall began before seeing the slight vapour of her breath threw the scarf.

“I’d say so, but only for a while longer if we don’t get back to camp soon.” He handed the staff to Blackwall before beginning to trek back to camp. Blackwall took it, using the staff on his uninjured side to keep himself steady as they started back. Cullen pulled back the scarf from her face, certain that it probably wasn’t doing much to help her breath, before he did the same with her hood. She was caked with frozen blood, and her face was pale as the snow around them. All he could think about was getting her back to their camp, and to warmth.

He barely heard the soft voice come from the figure in his arms from the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

“Cull-en?”

“I’m here Fáelán. You’re safe.”

“Are they …safe? Did … I fail…them?” she asked faltering. She was barely conscious, but was keeping herself so to get an answer from him.

“We’re safe Fáelán; you gave us the time we needed to get as many as we could to safety.” She seemed to settle at that, and beneath the blood on her face, he noticed that she had an expression of peace about her. He carried her threw the camp and into the healers tent before laying her down as gently as he could on a cot they’d prepared for her.

Solas gave her a displeased look for a second before getting to work. He directed those assembled for what he needed and began slowly warming her. Cullen stood awkwardly to the side as the mages and the healers got to work on their herald. Hearing her cry out from her state of being barely conscious as they appeared to set her wrist, he excused himself to go find some warmth of his own.


	9. Inquisitor

Her ears flicked to hear what was going on around her. She had only just awoken, but wasn’t sure if she was awakening in the beyond, or if she were somehow still alive.

She felt warm, and her skin prickled in places where she could have sworn she’d been injured, or had at one point been sure she’d had frostbite on that stretch of skin. She still felt exhausted, so that probably meant she was somehow still alive, because according to the lore, there was no pain or exhaustion in the beyond.

“How is she doing?” she heard a voice ask. It took her a few seconds to realize that she knew that voice.

“She is resting, and still repairing herself. Her wounds seem to be healing, but it feels like she’s trying to repair herself on more than just the physical plane, almost like she has Fade wounds and is trying to heal them as well.” She knew that voice too.

“Can you tell what kind of wounds she might have in the Fade?”

“I’ve tried, something is blocking me.”

“I guess we can only hope that she gets better on her own then.”

“First she has to awaken, then we can see if she has any answers that may help me help her.”

“Go get some rest Solas; I’ll watch her for a while.”

She heard more talking, but it became less distinct as she found herself being pulled back into the dreamless sleep brought about by exhaustion.

 

Blackwall sat down beside her cot, favouring his left arm as he got himself comfortable. His eyes turned to scrutinize the limp body beside him who was snoring lightly. There was colour in her face which was a considerable improvement over the last time he’d seen her. She’d been snow white except for blood stained skin and blue lips as the only colour. Even now she was still rather colourless, but the green _vallaslin_ didn’t seem so stark against her skin anymore. He shook his head at her, even if she couldn’t see it.

He still could barely believe she was alive. It had seemed like such a long shot for her to survive what they had all seen happen, much less for her to make it out to where they’d camped. But she’d made it most of the way, enough for them to find her. Blackwall quietly had to admit to himself that they probably wouldn’t have found her without the help of the boy in the giant hat.

He was an odd thing. He’d come to warn them about who and what they’d be facing almost too perfectly. Most would be willing to believe that his timing was almost _too_ good, and that perhaps he was sent from the enemy, but while the paranoid among them might think so, it felt like a move that would have been counterproductive for their enemy. Why warn someone that you were coming when you were planning to destroy them? What good would it be to warn them so that they could get their civilians out and then show your entire hand?

With that logic in mind, he dismissed the idea that the boy had been a tactical spy of this Elder One.

That was a different thing to think about in itself, and he was still mentally reeling from what had been seen and what had been done. There was a good chance that that dragon might not simply be a dragon but an archdemon, which meant the beginning of a blight. He hadn’t seen any wardens in years, not since his mentor had… Well, he didn’t know how to contact any of the Wardens in Ferelden, or Orlais. If it was a Blight, that was something he didn’t want to think about. They’d lost too many in the last one, how would they cope again if it really was a Blight?

He shook his head, his beard following his movements. There was just too much to think about, too much to absorb. They were all reeling from what had happened. But now that their Herald had been found, and appeared to be healing, the attitudes of the survivors were turning to what they would do next, but Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen and Josephine appeared to be waiting for her opinion upon her awakening before any concrete decisions could be made, or would be made.

 _Ah well._ He thought as he looked over and gave Varric a nod as the dwarf entered the enclosed tent that served as the healer’s tent. _Might as well take the time to rest while we have it. Who knows when we’ll have it again?_

‡

She was floating, or it felt like she was. Floating in a pond of warm water, she was warm everywhere, which was a nice change from only being able to feel cold. But she felt like the last place she should be was floating somewhere warm, she had somewhere to be, something to do… Didn’t she? She couldn’t remember.

 _How did I get here? Why am I here anyway? Where is here?_ She thought. Looking around, she saw nothing but blackness. That didn’t seem right. She stared at the darkness around her hard for a few moments before she started to make out a muted bright red light shining from what looked like a spire of crystal. _That_ looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure why. As she stared at it, she felt drawn towards it, like a moth to a flame. The crystal gave off a feeling of want, but the closer she got to it, the less it felt like a benevolent want and more of a hunger. That alone made her cull any desire to continue towards it. She floated in place for a moment or two, trying to discern what the crystal meant and what to do about it. It felt familiar, but somehow alien, dangerous, and her instinct told her that the last place she wished to be was near that crystal.

_Where was I before this? What was I doing?_

She remembered pain, ache, and exhaustion. Bitter winds throwing shards of ice past her skin, cutting her as they were blown into her face. She also remembered an incredible feeling of responsibility to others, her people, her Clan.

Clan?

_A Keeper protects their Clan. A Keeper protects their Clan._

The mantra sounded in her head and just beyond the words that she knew too well, the sound of a wolf howl cut its way through the haze she felt in her head.

Clan, Vetta, wolves, snow, Haven, Templars, Inquisition.

The pieces of her memories flew together as if they were pieces of a shattered mirror that were flying back into their frame and knitting themselves together. All at once she remembered what had happened and what needed to be done. She sat up panting and out of breath before her body loudly protested the movement.

“Hush, you are safe.” A voice said to her right. She turned to see the Chantry Mother she’d sought out in the Hinterlands.

“Mother Giselle?” she asked, disoriented and trying to get her bearings. “Wha- Where are we? Did we make it out? Is everyone alright?”

The mother filled her in far less swiftly than she would have liked, answering her questions as fast as she could before she was overrun with more. The leaders of the Inquisition were arguing in the background. Fáelán was glad to see they’d all made it, and as soon as they noticed she was awake, sat through the briefing and debriefing that followed. They left her alone for a while, supposedly to rest, but soon returned to arguing.

Mother Giselle was less than comforting in her words, and Fáelán gingerly hobbled away from the cot she’d been lying on to observe the camp as it was.

What she’d seen hadn’t sunk in yet. She doubted that it would for a while, but that didn’t stop anything from happening, and a decision needed to be made about what would happen next.

Behind her, Mother Giselle began singing. She hadn’t heard the hymn before, but apparently everyone else had. It felt like she was the only one who didn’t know this song, but she could feel the power in it. Her nerves hummed with the strength behind the words, and her skin prickled with goosebumps as the chorus gained strength.

She couldn’t deny the power of the song, especially with what had happened to those singing it, but she didn’t know if this was helping to solidify the idea that she was sent by their Maker, or was just a powerful song that was sung during times of strife. Judging by the amount of people who were suddenly kneeling or bowing in front of her, she somehow figured that it was probably at least giving them the indication that she had saved them, and was probably sent from their Maker.

She did her best to hide the incredible feelings of disgust she felt from those who were on their knees before her. The last thing she felt like at the moment was a saviour, and felt that she was the last one they should be considering as such.

The voice that spoke in her ear had incredible timing, and she followed Solas out past the edge of the camp where he lit an empty lantern with veilfire. She moved gingerly, as her ankle was still sore and tender. The snow was hardened, and they left light footprints that could be seen by light of the full moon.

“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. The faith is hard won lethalin, worthy of pride; save one detail.” She raised her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. There was a slight breeze that found its way up her sleeve. She frowned slightly and looked down at her hands. Her glove sleeves were gone, but as she thought about it, she remembered shredding one to keep her wrist stable, while using the other as a bandage for her thigh. Satisfied that the reasoning made sense, she returned her attention to Solas. He watched her curiously, a slight frown furrowing his forehead, but she couldn’t tell if that was because of what he was telling her or because of a thought he’d had. “The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried?” He continued, “It is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived… and we must prepare for their reaction when they learn the orb is of our people.”

She blinked at him, scanning her memories to recall exactly to what he referred. She remembered the wrinkled ball in question, remembered the monster holding it aloft and using it to try and rip the Anchor from her palm. She suppressed a shudder and her eyes focused their owlish intensity on the apostate.

“What is it and how do you know about it?” Those were just the easiest questions to ask right now, she had a multitude of questions she wanted to know about anything that had to do with the ancient past, let alone how their enemy was able to wield an artifact that had been of her people. She intended to ask what she could now and see if he’d give her more answers later.

“Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corpyheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven, and with it he threatens the heart of human faith.”

She absorbed the information in silence. She had no way of knowing if what he told her of their past was true or not, but she did know that what he spoke of as far as the threat Corypheus presented was entirely true, and she resented it. Most of the Shemlen in Thedas would simply decide that the entire thing was a plot by the elves to mess with their Chantry and with their way of life should they find out that the Orb was once theirs. Never mind that the Elvhen of the present could barely remember that they’d ever had access to such power, let alone wield it. Her eyes closed as she let out a quiet and irritated huff of breath that was the one reaction that betrayed her thoughts on the matter.

“I’m certain that should we defeat this creature that the Shemlen will find a way to blame elves. But out here it would appear there isn’t much we can do anyway.” She paused for a moment, and he held his response, correctly reading that she was considering what else could be done under the situation. “However, depending on how this is reacted too and managed, this does not have to be common knowledge for the population of Thedas. I’m certain that you are one of the few who knows this knowledge, and should it need be presented to others at all, we would be able to find ways that it would not be an issue.” He paused for a moment himself and regarded her solemly.

“I suppose you’re correct.”

“Do you know of any other such items? Or what we might do about it if it were to be used against us again? How we should combat it? What would you suggest for us to do in this situation?” The questions ceased as she let out a small chuckle. “Thank you Solas.” His eyes flicked to her expression, seeking to understand the motivation behind the simple phrase. Identifying his slight confusion, she clarified for him. “Your discoveries are invaluable to me, and I appreciate your insight.”

“You’re welcome, as to your questions, I will let you know when I find answers to them.”

“ _Ma serannas_ Solas.” She nodded to him before turning back towards camp.

“Ah, I did have one other question Fáelán.” She turned back to him. “Back in Haven...” She closed her eyes and set her jaw before she answered him.

“Have I not relieved that nightmare enough already? What information do you not have that you need know from me?”

“Your skin is etched with moonlight Fáelán, in a pattern I recognize only in part, but not in entirety.” She blinked and frowned slightly. He stared pointedly at her hands and she mimicked him. There were shining silver green lines on her hands that shone slightly. She’d forgotten that the fabric she’d torn off in the snow and shredded to use as bandages were what kept them from being seen. In the light of physical flame the design did nothing, but under moonlight and the magical light of veilfire, it glowed and shone. She flexed her hands before leveling a steady if guarded gaze at the elf.

“The designs on my skin matter so much?”

“You sang the dirge before you walked out there. If not for these designs, I wouldn’t have said anything. But the design has the markings of the Secret Keeper, the Guide of the Dead, and the Dread Wolf.”

“So?”

“You roared.”

“A battle cry.”

“I’ve never heard a battle cry that I’ve _felt_ through the Fade.” Her gaze was slowly narrowing as he continued his questions.

“I would assume that the Fade merely echoed the sound of what was once there.”

“Your…laughter was tinged in darkness.”

“I was alone on a battlefield that was once somewhere I considered to be safe. Any laughter would be dark in that situation.”

“No such sound I’ve ever heard on a battle field that it is so loud to echo through the Fade, and in all of our ears.”

“Maybe I was standing at the right place for it to echo out to you.”

“Fáelán.” He growled her name, low and threatening. Her ears pinned themselves against the side of her head as she held his gaze from under her brow ridge, challenging and holding thinly veiled threats in equal measure.

“During battle I cackled, and let out a roar. Why does it matter if it was heard through the Fade?”

“Your mind holds open wounds from the Fade, wounds you are still recovering from.”

“Get to the point Solas.” She finally snapped.

“You wear ancient markings that have power in them that I have rarely seen pieces of, let alone in their entirety. I want to know how you got them and why you have them.” Her lips pulled back into an eerie grimace as he remembered how otherworldly she looked with her pointed teeth. It took more self-control than he wished to admit to stop him from taking a step back.

“I don’t believe you have any right to that knowledge.”

“I do if you wield power that would be dangerous to those around you.”

“Have you yet been harmed by me Solas?”

“Do not make light of this Fáelán. You wear markings that have been forgotten for a _reason_.”

“I wear markings that were given as gifts and have protected me since I received them. Do not presume to know all that you do not understand.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he absorbed what she had snarled in reply.

“You’re promised to these entities.”

“I am promised to no one. I wear marks that have been forgotten that serve a purpose.”

“Those could be considered as promises.”

“I wear the mark of Mythal in different ink upon my skin, is that a promise as well?”

“I suppose not. … I apologise Fáelán, I did not mean to offend. You’ve worried us. When I found wounds I could not place on your mind, I could not find any answers in the Fade, but it is rare that I’ve seen scars such as that. Coupled with markings such as those that have power I’ve never come across in all my travels, … well, my lack of respect shames me.” She regarded him with a look that was far less threatening than it had been before nodding slightly.

“I suppose I can understand your concern, and I respect your conviction in making certain that others are safe. But this is not something that I appreciate speaking of in future. As it stands, unless you see a problem with my tattoos, we do have a bigger problem at hand.”

“Ah yes, about that, I have discovered a place that I think you should know about…”

‡

She’d been excited when they got there, even with her still healing wounds. On Solas’s suggestion, she’d lead the people she’d worked so hard to find to a giant castle in the middle of the mountains. But this wasn’t just any castle, this was _Tarasyl’an Te’las_ , the fabled Skyhold, and it was incredible.

As people settled in, and it became clear that the Inquisition would be able to thrive in this area, the people’s thoughts turned to what they’d do next.

Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine and Leliana figured that the best thing to do would be to name a leader, an Inquisitor. They chose Fáelán, and Leliana noticed the heavy swallows on the elf’s throat, the closed eyes that opened to reveal a steeled look when she took the blade that resembled the power they were giving her. The Raven Queen could read it as clear as dawn on her face that this honour they gave her was a ball and chain that she felt keenly around her ankles.

As she tended to do, she accepted the honour, and then disappeared.

 

Dorian was standing at the library they’d discovered in Skyhold off the main hall, peering over books in the shelves of the rotunda when a dark shadow appeared at his elbow.

“Dorian.” The man almost leapt out of his skin. The shadow wore the black coat, hood and scarf that Fáelán adopted when she was out in the world.

“Well, lovely to see you too Inquisi-“

“Don’t call me that.” She cut threw him hurriedly. “And keep your voice down.” His eyebrows shot skyward as he regarded the Elvhen before him. She looked like a startled doe, her eyes never stayed still as they peered around the room, almost as if she were looking for people who recognized her. He’d never seen her like this, not the night they’d come back from that terrible future in Redcliff, never. “I need a favour.” Her hushed voice cut threw his thoughts and his mild shock at seeing her like prey when she was ever the predator.

“What is it?”

“I need a glamour, something that will make me unseen for a while. I need to get out of the way for a while, and I don’t want to be seen doing it.” He gave her a quizzical look, but reached for his staff and lightly tapped it on the floor. “How long do I have?” she asked as she disappeared from view. The mage shrugged.

“I’m not very good at these… but maybe till nightfall?” He looked out the window at the late afternoon sky.

“That should do for now. Thank you Dorian.” Then she left. It wasn’t as if he saw her leave, it was just a feeling that she’d gone. That feeling might also have had something to do with the fact that one of the doors to the stairs opened and shut in an instant with nary a sound to be heard, unless you were looking for it. For a moment, Dorian was stunned. What had happened just now? He’d never seen Fáelán like that before, ever, and he’d gone looking for her when they’d come back from Redcliff together. The Fáelán he knew had the self-control of a master and never let you see her sweat. The elf he’d just spoken too had been terrified. Had he not known better, his first guess would have been that she was being hunted, but by what? _Venhedis_ , what had happened? She’d been fine when they found this castle, but now?

He found his way to the chair beside the window, and stared out past the glass, down into the garden below. He tried to think of what might have happened to set her off. Granted, they were all still shaken from what had happened at Haven, (he’d had a whole spiel he was going to give her about Archdemons and such when he saw her, in hopes that he could have lightened the mood) but he figured she’d deal with it the way she always did, stoicism, drinking, and working herself so hard into the ground that she’d sleep for days. What else might it be?

He thought back to the way she’d responded.

 _That’s it._ She was reacting to the fact they’d made her _Inquisitor!_

Truthfully, he agreed with the appointment, she was the perfect person for the job, mostly. But he remembered that day when Iron Bull, Blackwall and he had been out at the Coast and had listened to her tell them that she didn’t want to be there. No wonder she was reacting this bad now. But, he remembered, when she was offered the position she hadn’t said no outright. She’d told them that she’d do whatever it meant to stop Corypheus. An idea he’d approved of. Nothing from Tevinter’s sordid past such as that needed to ever see the light of day, especially if what Corypheus said was true. Regardless that what he said might be completely bogus, anything that had caused such devastation needed to be stopped. She was also the only one who could seal the rifts. His face twisted into an unhappy look. That was the one heavy sticking point. The rifts needed to be sealed, and she was the only one who could do it. He clicked his tongue. What a nastily uncomfortable position to be in. Shaking his head, he reached for the book on top of the stack on the table beside the chair. She’d come back later, and he would do what he could then. Until then, he’d give her space.

‡

She was running. Leaping and running and moving over broken and crumbling stone and wood. Dodging people and anyone in her way, she moved without a sound, just the movement of wind around her. She knew the glamour was working because no one stopped her, no one bowed, and no one got in her way. No one was stopping her with reverently hushed tones speaking the dreaded title _“Inquisitor”_. It was just her and the wind, and rotten stonework and wood under her leather wrapped feet.

She made the rounds of the broken walls more than once. She climbed over the garrison tower and ran through the open doors of the other one, dodging people as she ran, and guards who figured they had to dally. She slipped down on rooftops and into the main hall again before she was down the stairs and out the side of the rotunda before running down the outside staircase and up the other side. In her running, she marked where people were, where they walked, where they went. Where the surgeon worked with her half-baked ideas about fixing bodies, and where Cullen commanded his troupes. She watched in between her swift movements as masons began setting up scaffolding to start fixing the ruin they apparently were calling home. She finally paused on top of the guard tower with the rotten roof to sit and watch as the evening fires were lit and the moon came out. She was winded and breathing deeply, evenly and hard, trying to stifle the sound from anyone who might see her, or hear her. Looking down at the ground, she noticed that there was a shadow on the ground from the moonlight.

Apparently Dorian wasn’t so good at glamours. A good illusionary mage could erase your shadow as well. But he’d been the only one she’d trusted to ask. She didn’t think Solas would be so accommodating. Actually, she was pretty sure that the apostate had known what had happened when she’d run out of the rotunda that he’d claimed as his study. She could feel his grey eyes follow her until she was out on the ramparts. She hated the fact that she couldn’t face the apostate and his incredible will. She’d felt like he was watching her, waiting for her to reveal some hidden danger about herself that stemmed from the markings on her arms since he’d discovered them. She despised being treated as prey, being watched until she slipped up and made a mistake, even if she had nothing dangerous to hide.

It took far too much effort to not simply scream her frustration to the open sky. She’d taken the position of Inquisitor only because she knew that she needed too. The mark on her hand, the Creators damned anchor locked her into this situation. She was the only one who could help save Thedas, but that meant she was unable to leave and go back to her Clan. She didn’t want to _be_ here. Amid an organisation that as supposed to be a temporary situation, one that she would be able to leave so soon as the rifts and the Breach were closed, one that despised the fact she was an elf, and proud of it, one that expected her to be a herald to a prophet of a god she did not believe in. Now it appeared that she was to be the leader of it instead of simply an unwilling participant.

This was probably going to increase the public’s view that she was some sort of divinely sent individual, and the idea of it made her cringe. She didn’t need their idolism, she didn’t want any more of it. It made her feel like she was far superior to those around her, and she wasn’t. She was only one person, who just happened to be somewhere when it mattered, who was now doing everything she could to make certain that the world was not going to fall apart.

Why did they have to see her as a herald? Why not just a person?

She felt overwhelmed by the weight of what she was now responsible for, and bit her lip with her sharp teeth to keep from starting to sob. She felt the blood start running into her mouth, but ignored it, simply biting down harder to keep from letting anyone know that she felt this way. No one needed to know that the elf with the white hair and the shining green mark on her hand had feelings. No, it wouldn’t do for anyone to know that at all. She shook her head and used the back of the glove sleeves she had replaced to wipe away the tears that were accumulating on the corners of her eyes. For now, the Inquisition was her Clan, and a Keeper takes care of her Clan.

She stood on the stable beams of the roof she’d been sitting on and looked at the sky _. I highly doubt you ever taught me any of these lessons so that I could lead a Clan of Shemlen, Papae, but I will lead them well, and then I can return to our Clan again._ She thought to herself.

 _This assumes they want you back._ A traitorous voice in her head said. She pulled more of her lip into her mouth and bit down again, hard. This was not a time to remember what Aerona had done; this was a time to focus on what needed to be done. There was still a squadron of scouts in the Fallow Mire to rescue. That was a start.

She took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

The rotten wood caved in under her feet and she muffled the sound of a screech as she hooked her knee over a sturdy beam as she fell in the roof. She hung from the beam by one leg.

“What the?!” a voice came from below. Fáelán cursed under her breath as she swung slightly from the beam. She looked down at herself and cursed even more venomously. The glamour had worn off. She was now visible to the naked eye. Pulling her scarf down, she spat out the mouthful of blood she’d accumulated at the floor somewhere. While hanging upside down, she surveyed the room. There was a bed in the corner; a green vine that had made its way up through the wall, a chest or two, a dresser with a washbasin, and a ladder entryway. It appeared to be a bedroom or something.

Someone was coming up the ladder. Her eyebrow rose when she watched the light shift and listened to the sound of heavy movement up the ladder. When she saw who was ascending, she pinched the bridge of her nose and scowled.

Cullen stepped into his room, frowning at his hand and observing it before he looked around and spotted the elf hanging from the beam in his room, looking like she had a migraine from the void. His glove felt sticky and wet. He put it to his nose and recognized the coppery tang of blood. He frowned at it before looking up at the shadow that was swinging from the rafter.

“I-… err…” he began in a halted manner, not entirely sure what to say under the circumstance.

“I apologise for your roof Commander. It seems the wood was rotten.”

“So it would appear.” He would have been more amused if he wasn’t concerned about where the fresh blood came from. “Are you wounded? I found blood on the floor here.” Her eyebrow rose for a moment before she gave the floor a quizzical look and looked up at the leg that was hooked over the beam.

“Potentially.” She replied.

“How would blood be over here then if you are wounded there?” She pinched the bridge of her nose again as she exhaled before answering.

“I spat blood out when I fell. I didn’t realize anyone was in here, or that it was your bedroom.”

“Do you need help getting down?” he asked, ignoring the obvious question of why she was bleeding from the mouth. She shook her head.

“ _Ma serannas_ Commander, but I should be fine.” She said, twisting herself upwards to grab the beam. Cullen moved under her cautiously, as if he were going to be bitten if she found him there. Truthfully, he wouldn’t put it past her. He never knew what she’d do when she was surprised. She hung for a moment or two from the beam by one arm. Her right arm, he noticed, not the one that had been damaged while she’d been facing the monsters who destroyed Haven. She was holding that against her chest, as if she was trying to convince herself that she should use it. Was it still hurting her? Hadn’t it been healed?

He felt a swell of respect tinged with slight irritation for the elf as he realized that she’d been hiding the pain and making sure that she was healed the minimum that she needed to be so that the healers could use their power to help those who needed their help more than she. The irritation came from the fact that she’d not yet gotten completely healed now that they were safe and able to rest.

His introspection was punctuated as she twisted further up, grabbed the beam with both hands and tried to maneuver her leg over the beam. It didn’t come free from the wood that she’d gone through on the first try, and it took her two or three attempts to pull free before the rotten wood in the broken roof gave way and she was able to hang right side up before she dropped to the floor and rolled out of the landing. She came to a stop beside the bed.

“ _Ir abelas_ Commander, I will make certain that someone fixes your roof.” He approached where she was sitting, shaking his head as he went.

“I’m certain it was only a matter of time, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t call me that.” She retorted sharply. He gave her a puzzled look.

“Why not? Isn’t that your title now?” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing her attention on the state of her wrist before she took a better look at her leg. She let out a pained hiss as she pulled it into the light. He dropped down in front of her in the beam of moonlight that came through his new skylight, and she fixed him with a pained look. He stared unflinchingly into her eyes for a few moments before she withdrew enough that he figured he wasn’t going to get damaged for offering to help. He examined the damaged leg in the bright moonlight. She wasn’t wearing boots, just leather wraps around the pads of her feet. The rotten wood of the tower roof apparently still had some pieces that had some strength to them, as her calf was littered with long slivers that were embedded in her flesh threw her pants. He eased the ones that were sticking out from her pants out of her skin, being gentle enough to not make the pain any worse while still trying to be effective. Having removed as many as he could outside of her pants, he rolled up the edge of her blood spattered pants and gave it a better look. Rotating her ankle between his hands to see her calf better, his eyes flashed to her face as she let out a small hiss of pain. She didn’t look so much like a caged creature anymore, but her eyes were still full of apprehension and a wildness that he couldn’t identify.

“Inquisi- err, milady” he began, his military control dropping for a second as he flinched under the strength of the glare she pinned him with until he changed his wording. “I want to go get some light and some better supplies to treat this better, is that alright?” The strength of the glare didn’t abate overly much, but he caught a glimpse of a subtle nod that he returned. He set her foot gently on the ground and moved quickly for the ladder to the lower floor. She exhaled gently, trying to let out all the residual pain out with the sigh. This was just another thing she had to live through before she could go find a random cot and go to sleep. She had hoped to be off towards the Fallow Mire tomorrow, but at this rate, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen. She’d probably have to limp off to Solas and see if he’d give her leg a full heal, probably her wrist as well, as she may have just undone the scant healing that had been done to it.

She’d been sloppy, and now she was paying for it. Some part of her wanted to blame her current emotional state for her carelessness, but really that was just an easy way to not take responsibility for her lack of diligence.

She was distracted by the sound of something being pushed across the floor. A pot of tea with the steam still rising from the spout sat beside the ladder entrance, and she heard Cullen slide back down the ladder before beginning his ascent again. She pulled down her scarf and hood before leaning against the wall to wait. By the time he was finished, Cullen had the pot of tea, a cup or two, a small wooden box, a lantern, a bowl or two, some cloths, a roll or two of bandage and some satchels of herbs. He climbed the ladder and moved over to the dresser, his deft fingers moving over buckles on his armour as he went. He could feel her hawk like gaze following his every move, but he acted no differently. He unbuckled his breastplate and all of the plate armour that normally covered his arms. He even removed the feathered over tunic he wore over his armour and folded everything neatly on the bed before he returned to her, settling down cross-legged on the floor.

Moving the lantern to where it would be of more use, he opened the wooden box and pulled out a set of tweezers. He set them down beside her calf before going back for the rest of the things he’d gathered. He emptied some of the herbs from the satchel into a cloth and set it in a bowl. Over the herbs he poured the tea and left them there to steep. He noticed her peering into the bowl and answered her curiosity before she had a chance to ask.

“Rosemary, thyme, spindelweed, elfroot, bark of a particular form of willow, yarrow, and the tea is mint.” He noticed her eyebrows shoot up into her hair, wrinkling the branches of the _vallaslin_ on her forehead, but she made no comment and so he continued. He poured some of the steaming liquid into a cup and handed it to her. Half of his face was lit by the flickering of the candle inside the lantern as he looked at her with what appeared to be concern. “I’m sorry if this hurts, I’ll try and be as gentle as possible.” She downed the steaming cup he’d handed her and gave another subtle nod. His mouth dropped open for an instant as he suppressed his surprise at her tolerance of heat, his surprise no less quelled; he ignored it, picked up the tweezers and began gently easing the many slivers out of her calf.

Her skin was caked in blood which made the work troublesome. Having removed many of the larger pieces of dark wood that stood out under her light skin, he set down the tweezers and gathered the loose herbs into the cloth, set them to the side and gathered another cloth, dipping it in the herbed tea. He bathed her skin with it, gently working at the caked on blood that coated her skin. She winced sharply and let out a soft cry as the hot cloth moved over fresh skin wounds. She sealed her jaw shut so fast that her teeth hurt. She hadn’t cried out during the ceremony that gave her the tattoos that covered her face, or many other wounds that had hurt worse. Why did a few scrapes make her lose her composure!?

“It’s alright.” He offered, rinsing the cloth in the herbal bath before beginning again. “I think that whoever built this place coated the roofs with tar or oil or something. I remember helping with the roof of the Chantry when I was a lad and I did the same thing, I put my foot threw some of the old roof and got a bunch of slivers in my leg, all of them coated with whatever the roof had been soaked with. It hurt like the Void.” She blinked at him, surprised by his response, but wasn’t sure why.

Cullen continued pulling slivers from her leg, and bathing it as he encountered patches of bloody flesh. His fingers were gentle.

“Permission to remove the leather around your foot Milady.” He asked. “I’d like to make sure there aren’t any under the wrap.” She nodded, and he went to work in untying the cleverly wrapped leather. “Why do you not wear boots, if I may ask?” There was silence while she looked at him. He felt her owl like scrutiny as he continued to unwrap her foot.

“I needed to move without being heard, and I wanted to feel the stone under my feet.”

“Do-“He cleared his throat before continuing. “Is that a trait of the Dalish? You like feeling the ground under your feet?”

“I wear footwear because I dislike giving those who know little of the Dalish more reason to stare. Had I a choice, I wouldn’t wear footwear, no.”

“I see.” He responded, pulling a few small slivers out of her ankle. “Why did you have to move without being heard?” He snuck a glance at her face in between bathing her skin with the herbs and examining her calf for any further slivers he’d missed. She didn’t answer for a time, boring a hole in the floor with her gaze.

“It unnerves people when there is sound, but there is no one there to make it.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I was under a glamour, invisible. If you’re invisible, it’s unwise to make noise around people who can’t see you. You can cause a panic, or at least unnerve those who witness movement without reason, or hear something without reason. The Inquisition is still fragile after what happened at Haven, I didn’t wish to give them a reason to fear this place.”

“Why would you need to be invisible?”

“I didn’t want to be seen.”

“Why?” She stared at him, her eyes tinged with incredulity.

“I was just pronounced Inquisitor.” She sneered. “The knife eared “Herald” is being rewarded for the treachery of the murder of the Divine, with the leadership of the organisation dedicated to finding and stopping those responsible for that atrocity. Well that shouldn’t be too hard, just look at the one who you decided should lead. She must be sleeping with those at the top then, no one should be letting her do anything without someone decent keeping an eye on her.” She parroted harshly. “I couldn’t leave, there would be a panic if the bloody “Inquisitor” couldn’t be found, but I needed some way to find freedom without being disturbed. Running and climbing tends to work when I cannot work myself to the bone.” She didn’t bother looking at him, focusing on a stone in the wall.

“Where was this said?” he asked.

“I believe it was a new set up of mercenaries who just joined up. They started this around some of those who there from before Haven. The mercenaries were lucky that Blackwall isn’t one who lets people get hurt for being racist, but they didn’t get away entirely without reproach.” She gave a small wolfish grin at that and Cullen had to wonder if the infirmary might have a company of mercenaries that were full of broken bones. “I suppose they may be in for trouble yet as well though, Sera overheard them, and the glare she leveled at them made me figure that they might be in for more than they bargained for.” She paused as she regarded her leg in his grasp. “Nice to have allies willing to stand up for me, I guess.”

“I think in this case, they might be known as ‘friends’.” He remarked quietly. She nodded.

“I’d agree.” He looked up at her, not used to having her agree with him. She was still staring pensively at the wall. He got up to rummage through one of the chests along the wall before returning with a small bottle. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured some into a clean cloth.

“This will hurt.” He warned her. She nodded, having expected it. He heard the small intake of breath threw her teeth as he applied the alcohol soaked cloth to her leg, but she made no other noise as he made certain that all the wounds were sterilized before using the bandage to lightly cover her leg. She didn’t say anything, but helped him gather up the materials before trying to stand and help him put them away.

“Please,” he shook his head. “Don’t try yet, I’d rather help you up so that you don’t get hurt worse if your footing isn’t as stable as you thought.” She blinked at him, trying to figure out if he meant to help, or just didn’t want her riffling through his things. While his back was turned, she eased herself up using the wall, testing her weight on the foot while she had the wall to help her stay steady. It hurt, but not from the splinters or whatever they were coated in. It hurt in a way that reminded her of the wound she’d gotten in the tunnel under Haven. She reasoned that pulling herself free from wood that was partially rotten and partially solid probably aggravated the unhealed sprain. That meant she would need to go see Solas for healing. She closed her eyes and sighed internally, not something she wished to do, but there was little she could do if she wasn’t able to move.

Cullen was suddenly at her arm, providing another steady support as she stepped forward on the pained leg. A sharp spike of pain shot up from her ankle and she stumbled a bit as she brought her other leg forward to compensate for the instability. Cullen took her weight without comment, and she ignored the feeling of comfort that she felt from having someone to lean on. She also ignored the surprised feeling of comfort that came from having his warmth at her side. Shemlen had a higher body heat than the elvhan, but she’d never really had much of a reason to remember that. She pushed the unexpected feelings of comfort away and put her weight on her foot again, working until she was able to set her foot down without needing to hold onto him for support. He stood by her anyway as she took small steps across the room. Once she was able to walk without support, even if the walk was more a less than graceful limp, she turned her gaze to him. Cullen wasn’t sure what he read in her eyes, but it wasn’t the animosity that usually lurked behind the violet irises. She held herself ridged, as if she were trying to mask an instinct to stand a different way.

“I..” she swallowed. “Thank you Commander, for your help with this injury. I apologize for destroying your roof, and I will have someone look into it as soon as I can.” She gave him a stiff bow and began limping to the ladder.

“You’re welcome milady.” He responded watching her regard the ladder with some degree of distaste. He didn’t blame her, it wasn’t something he’d want to try with the injury she had either. “Is there…” He swallowed himself, resisting the urge to scratch the back of his neck. “Is there any way I can help you get to where you need to be?” She fixed him with her owlish look, before looking back down at the ladder. She gave him a slight wry grin before she shook her head and replied.

“I’ll let you know.” She gave him a dashing bow before stepping to the exit and sliding down the ladder; he rushed to the hole in the floor and didn’t see her. He heard the sound of the door to his office opening and quietly shut and knew she’d disappeared into the night. He finished cleaning up the rest of his room, before undressing for some degree of sleep.

He supposed this could be counted as a win in some regard; they’d had another conversation without trying to bite each other’s heads off or insulting each other. As his eyes shut, he wondered as to where and how she’d lead the Inquisition, but sleep overcame the Commander before he could ponder more about it.

 

A slight knock pulled Solas out of his reverie. He turned on his scaffolding to see the black shadow in the light and he scurried down the ladder to see her.

“You’re up late Fáelán.”

“Your paintings are quite beautiful Solas.” She replied, regarding them in disguised awe. He gave a slight inclination of his head in thanks.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?”

“I require your help, at least to speed things along.”

“Oh?” She limped over to a chair before exposing her bandaged leg and wrapped wrist. He tsked lightly before bathing her leg and her wrist in green that flowed from his hand.

“Who did the bandaging? Its fine work, but I somehow doubt that even you have bandages in your pockets at all times.” She gave him the slightest ghost of a crooked grin.

“No, I went running light today.” His eyebrows remained raised as he ran his glowing hands over her leg to heal it. She sighed in response, knowing that he wouldn’t let her get away without an answer. “I fell through the Commander’s roof; he was kind enough to help me with my leg.”

“So I see.” He responded. His tone suggested that he expected more of an answer than she’d given him, but she didn’t divulge anything further, and he didn’t press.

The mood between them was guarded, but Fáelán was guarded with everyone, so it didn’t seem that out of the ordinary.

“I apologize for disturbing you this late Solas, but I required help before we set out tomorrow.”

“You wished to set out for another area tomorrow?” he gave her a look that betrayed a small amount of incredulousness.

“I do not wish to have the Aavar grow tired of waiting for me to appear and then take it out on the collection of Inquisition Scouts they have imprisoned.” Solas gave a nod at that.

“I understand your reasoning, but you need more rest before we head out again. There are also a few matters that require your attention here at Skyhold before we leave. It might be of some use to allow yourself and your companions a little more recuperation time before you decide to go out to brave the rain, mud and undead. As you yourself are aware, weary fighters make mistakes.” She was utterly still for a moment or two before nodding at the wisdom in his words.

“Very well.” She responded, testing her leg as she stood. She gave him a slight bow. “ _Ma serranas_ Solas, I will leave you to your painting.”

“You’re welcome Fáelán.” She bowed again and headed for the stairs upwards to the library. Solas stepped back from the wall he’d been working on to look at how it looked from the floor. He noted a few details that needed to be taken care of and climbed the scaffolding to begin his work again.

 

The next morning, Cullen awoke early as was his habit. The sun streaming into his room from the newly created hole in his room didn’t hurt either. Sitting up in bed with a groan, he sat blinking for a moment. Something smelled delicious, good enough that he could have sworn he was still dreaming. Groggily, he threw back the covers and walked over to the washstand. Pouring water into the bowl that rested atop it, he splashed his face with the cold liquid and got dressed. Sliding down the ladder, he found his desk contained the source of the smell.

Resting atop his desk, he found a covered plate, a cup and a covered pot of tea, all of which was mostly warm. The plate had a hearty breakfast that still had steam rising from it. Sausages, eggs, and some herbed potatos along with some bread and a small pot of what appeared to be berry spread. His mouth dropped open. Who was responsible for this?

His question was answered in a note that sat beside the plate.

_Ma serranas Commander, this should make us even for last night.  
-F._

Shaking his head, Cullen sat down to his morning set of reports and the food he’d been given. After all this time, the only thing he’d gleaned for certain about their elven Inquisitor was that she was one who hated to be in anyone’s debt. He took a bite of potatoes and was pleasantly surprised by them. Apparently she was also a pretty decent cook as well, or she had made friends in the kitchen. Sitting back in his chair, he decided that he really didn’t know much about her, either that or it was her job to consistently surprise him. In retrospect he thought, either could be exceptionally correct.

The next morning, Dorian was up early. As he did his morning routine of hygiene and self-care, he gave the mirror an unhappy look. He was not used to being up this early when he had no reason to be. Granted that he was beginning to become used to early rising due to Fáelán dragging him out to wherever they had things to do, but whenever there was a chance to sleep in, he took it. Today however, he wanted a chance to go speak to Josephine before the diplomat got too into the things she did during the day. He found his way into the great hall, and the corridor that came to the War Room. He’d made some discrete inquiries as to where Josephine could be found, and he found they were correct. Josephine had made her office in the passage to the command center of Skyhold. It was something that he could see the Diplomat spicing up in her own elegant way, but as it stood, she’d done what she could with the rest of Skyhold in the state it was.

“Ah, Dorian, good morning.” She greeted the mage. He swept into a gracious bow in response.

“A fine morning to you as well, Lady Josephine. I’ve come to discuss something that I thought you might find useful to know.”

“Oh?” she asked, setting down her quill and clasping her hands on her desk. He eyed the tranquil mage that was standing off to the side. Josephine got the hint and nodded that her assistant could depart.

“I am not used to interfering like this, but I figured that you might need to know.” Josephine’s eyebrow twitched as the only sign that she was digesting the idea that Dorian was unused to interfering in any manner. “This is concerning our lady Inquisitor.” That made Josephine lean forward with only a trace of concern in her brown eyes.

“What about her?” She asked. Dorian wrung his hands as he stared uncomfortably at the ground before he placed his hands behind his back and looked at her.

“Did you notice anything odd about her when she accepted the honour you bestowed upon her yesterday?” Josephine thought for a moment.

“She was oddly stiff, but I find that she is often stiff in some regard when I see her.”

“More so than usual?” he asked.

“Perhaps, I can’t say I noticed her stance as odd or overly different.” Dorian gave a faint trace of a smile.

“Too busy cheering to notice?”

“Oh, ah…” Josephine flushed briefly, her hand moving over her mouth in embarrassment. This time Dorian did grin at the sight of their ambassador slightly losing her iron grip on her composure.

“No matter.” He interrupted. “The reason I came is because she came to me afterwards in such a state as I’ve never seen. I came to you because she may require a rather… delicate hand to allow her to be the Inquisitor she can be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve noticed that she is rather private, yes?”

“It has been mentioned in passing.”

“You’ve just given someone who despises the spotlight the biggest one you possibly could, on top of the stories of what she did at Haven. She will do as she needs to do, she is too focused on duty to simply abandon anyone who she thinks needs her, but if she is pushed into anything, she could well…” Dorian trailed off.

“Yes?” Josephine prompted. Dorian shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“Milady, may I be frank?”

“By all means.”

“Out in the field, we see a different face than you who manage the business of the Inquisition. When people started identifying her as the Herald of Andraste, she covered up and created a ruse that she was not even the one with the mark. She hears a lot of things, and understands that people do not trust her people, as she does not easily trust them. She will play her role with grace and elegance that most do not credit her with, but she needs to be treated gently, without being coddled. She needs ways to vent herself, otherwise I fear she will snap in some way, and that may be more damaging to her then we could imagine.” He paused to look out the window into the sky for a moment and Josephine waited, anticipating that he wasn’t entirely finished yet. Dorian rewarded her patience by turning his gaze back to her with a look of incredible seriousness in his eyes. “I come to you with this information because I feel you understand what she needs and might be able to give it to her, but also because I feel that you would be discrete about it, which is paramount to this being successful. I don’t know how she might snap, but I feel like it might lose us an Inquisitor, or something equally drastic. I have become fond of her, and would rather not see that happen.” He finished. Josephine was silent for a moment as she processed his words.

“I appreciate you coming to me with this information Dorian, and while I was considering the thought that she is human and may require ways to rest and recoup, this viewpoint is helpful. I will do all I can to help her with this.”

“Thank you Josephine, for your help and your discretion. I bid you a good day.” He swept into a bow before finding his way from her office. The main hall was not yet ready to really host the entirety of the Inquisition, but that didn’t stop the kitchens from being used to begin to feed those who sought food. Dorian captured a few choice morsels from the tables, and requested that a pot of tea and a cup be brought up to the library.

Climbing the stairs from the rotunda with his plate load of food, he was surprised to find the elf in question sitting comfortably in the chair he’d claimed for himself with two sizeable stacks of books beside her, a book in her hand.

“Well then. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Good morning Fáelán.” He greeted her, side stepping the stack of books and placing the plate of food on the table beside the chair.

“You’re up early Dorian.” She responded, her eyes not leaving the page she was scanning.

“Am I? I didn’t notice.” He sat comfortably across from her in a smaller chair that sat in the corner beside the candelabra. He scanned the elf in the large plush chair and the stacks of books around her. “Have you even slept yet?” She didn’t answer him which he took for a tactile agreement and gave her a reproachful look that he was certain she ignored. “If you won’t sleep, at least eat. How will you ever lead us competently if you don’t keep up your strength?” he asked, and was rewarded with her reaching over to the plate of food and removing a roll he’d filled with cheese.

“What did Josephine want?” she asked. Dorian frowned.

“How did you-?”

“Hellima said that Josephine had had a visitor, the Tevinter Mage, she’d said.”

“You asked?”

“Fiona did. I just listened.” Dorian kept his face still. He got the sense that Fáelán might not appreciate being spoken of. “So? What did you need to see Josephine about?”

“I was looking to see if she could get me some silk sheets for my bed. Cotton does terrible things to my skin you see.” He lied with his usual flare of self-obsession. Her eyes sought his with a degree of intensity that made the hairs on the back of his neck go up, and he started to sweat under the degree of scrutiny while he tried to keep himself looking calm. “What?” he asked, trying to look innocent? She regarded him quietly for a moment.

“You’re a terrible liar Dorian.”

Well, _that_ was a response he’d rarely gotten. Dorian didn’t lie about important things often, but when he did, he prided himself on being able to keep things under wraps. But she didn’t press, so he let it go.

 

The rest of the day went by quickly for those at Skyhold as things began the long journey of being shifted into place. Rubble started moving out of the way of main areas, scaffolding was being erected as masons began marking plans that they intended to follow to recreate the awesome presence that the castle once had. The newly named Inquisitor sent her advisors to do various tasks that helped them get settled in their new home. She also got her companions somewhat settled, most of them. It became clear to them that she was furious with what Corypheus had done to Haven, had vowed revenge for those she couldn’t save, and was just as concerned with the fate of those who were wounded in the travel to Skyhold as the healers were. She spent some of her time with herbs, bandages and the wounded, doing what she could amongst the healers and the mages. Those who knew her watched her with some surprise as she just about all out called the surgeon a moron. It quickly became evident that those who wished for healing, would have to decide if they wished for help from the surgeon, or from the Inquisitor, as the Surgeon would often remove whatever method that the elf had used to help the healing process along, and the Inquisitor grew more and more impatient with what the Surgeon had done to her patients. As it was, Cassandra ended up having to haul her away from the make shift infirmary. Partially because there was something the Inquisitor needed to see too, but mostly because it was evident to the Seeker that if the Inquisitor spent any further time around the surgeon, there might have been a hell of a row.

Cassandra brought her to where Solas and Vivienne were arguing over the nature of the boy who had warned them about the Templar attack. Solas explained that he was a spirit, while Vivienne had decided that he was a demon. Cassandra was wary about the boy upon hearing that he was not really a boy after all, and urged the elf to make him leave. Fáelán regarded them all with solemn eyes and listened to each of them in turn before she decided that she’d speak to the spirit himself.

She found him around those who were suffering, and heard him out. She regarded him calmly and owlishly, considering his responses and what he claimed to be his motivations before nodding. They came upon a man who was suffering greatly and wished for some relief. The boy pulled out a knife and expressed a desire to do the merciful thing only to have the Inquisitor shake her head.

“But why not? He is hurting; all he wants is for the pain to stop. The healers have done all they can, but it will take him hours to die.” She eyed the knife calmly before closing her eyes for a moment and sighing. Kneeling beside the man, she reached into a pouch on her belt and gathered a tiny vial of red liquid. As she worked she spoke softly to the man beneath her.

“Hush _da’len_ , _garas ma falon, na isala hamin. Ar na’halani ma hamin._ Hush _falon.”_ As she spoke, she dripped two drops from her vial onto the man’s tongue. He coughed and licked his lips, but didn’t appear to wake. Slowly, his breathing slowed. The elf replaced the vial in her pack as the boy looked at her, his eyes were full of wonder.

“You stopped the pain, he sleeps, but he doesn’t feel anything now. But he lives.” He stared wonderingly at her, and she responded with a rare weak smile. “I came to help, if I can help, I want to stay.”

“What can I call you?”

“My name is Cole.” She nodded.

“You saved many lives with that warning at Haven. I see no reason why you shouldn’t stay, spirit or not.”

Needless to say, Cassandra, and Vivienne disapproved of the choice, but it was obvious that she didn’t care. She did however have a few words with Cullen, Cassandra and Solas about the boy. She wanted no one to get hurt if she’d made a mistake. Solas suggested that she wouldn’t have a problem, and that she should talk to the spirit.

She found him knocking the heels of his wooden shoes against a wall, as he rocked back and forth.

She listened to the spirit without saying much, watching as he managed to stop a survivor from continuing to blame herself for her lover having died. She didn’t say it, only gave him a small nod, but that small nod spoke volumes. She was impressed.

Once he’d finished, she requested that he follow her. As they walked up to the ramparts, he cocked his head to the side.

“You hurt. It eats claws at your insides, weighs on your shoulders. Pulled, hurt, twisted-“She stopped dead for a fraction of a second. Her jaw falling open as her eyes went wide. It only lasted for a second before she wrapped herself back up in her iron grip, but it was enough.

“Cole.” Her response was low and quiet, a warning growl from a predator.

“But you’re hurting, I want to help.”

“This is one of those wounds you can’t fix. Please leave this alone.”

“But-!”

“Please don’t.” Her response was short, and had a sense of finality about it. The spirit boy fell silent, following her up to the ramparts. She leaned on a broken piece of wall in a quiet corner. She eyed him quietly, sorting out her thoughts before she spoke. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I do. You see me as a spirit, you see me for what I am. But if I turn into something else, then you or Cassandra or Cullen need to kill me. I don’t want to be anything other than what I am.” She nodded. “I don’t want to hurt anyone except those who hurt others. I want to help.”

“I understand. I don’t think it will come to that, but I understand.” He nodded and started walking away. Fáelán stood looking out over the mountains that surrounded Skyhold. At the top of the staircase down, Cole paused and looked back at her.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He said quietly and continued down the stairs, to all others, disappeared from view.

She let out a sharp harsh bark of laughter and remained leaning against the wall for a while longer.


	10. Chapter 10

Skyhold very quickly got organised, effectively filling out the space that the hold offered and becoming a far better home to the Inquisition than Haven ever had been, or had had the capacity to be. They recruited a dwarven magicker, or Arcanist as she wished to be called, which brought the opportunity to make exceptional forms of arms and armour. The advisors began setting down roots, commanding their forces so that they were able expand their reigns of influence more efficiently than ever before. By the time that most of Thedas was finding out about the events at Haven, whatever variation of the story that was being told, the Inquisition was back on its feet, and already looking to continue expanding its influence.

The newly dubbed Inquisitor soon left the castle to confront unfinished business in the Fallow Mire, taking a crew out to the marshes to confront the Aavar and rescue the kidnapped squad.

Leliana’s networks brought back information that the squad was safe and were returning to Skyhold. It wasn’t long until Scout Harding sent a bird that the Inquisitor was in Crestwood and working at sorting out the problem of the dead in the lake and the Rift in the caves. 3 weeks later, her party rode through the gates of Skyhold, smelling of dankness and the beginnings of mold, barely holding onto their mounts with how exhausted they were. The Inquisitor didn’t even change into something clean and dry before she called a war council. Her advisors found her in the war room staring at the map on the tree stump they’d made a table. In contrast to her normally stoic, self-contained presentation, this time she might as well have been vibrating. They tried to hand her reports from missions that had been completed after she’d left, but she held up her hand and shook her head, barely paying attention to the manicured papers in their hands.

“Inquisitor?” prompted Josephine when the silence stretched into less than polite. The word snapped her out of simply vibrating silently and into action. A curled fist hit the table hard enough for the vibrations to make liquid jump in their mugs, and more than a few of the iron markers representing missions fall over. Considering the sheer weight of the table, even Leliana registered a flicker of shock at the elf’s strength. Her eyes blazed, but her face was blank as her order came out low and deliberate.

“I want the mayor of Crestwood found.” The request came as no surprise. Josephine had made it abundantly clear that Thedas now saw the Inquisition as a force of justice that would be called upon to deliver judgement upon criminals that they came across in their quest to restore order. What astonished and outright shocked the assembled advisors was the fact that the creature across the wooden surface between them was radiating waves of anger. She was normally cold, calculating, but quiet. Quiet, somehow intimidating even as she said only what needed to be said, and they had rarely seen her deviate from a neutral reaction to anything, let alone smile.

Josephine quickly recovered from her outright shock at the rogue’s response and held her quill at the ready.

“I can contact the Crown and ask that they post a warrant for the former Mayor’s arrest.” The rogue leveled her gaze at Cullen, prompting him to reply.

“We have soldiers on that road already; they’ll hunt down the mayor.”

“He’ll have to stop for supplies at some point; I’ll have my agents inquire.” Leliana piped out without having to be asked. Fáelán starred at the war table like she’d make parts of it burst into flames that burned blue and pulled in warmth with her eyes as the only spark.

“No.” She said quietly. “Cullen, your troops are needed to construct a shortcut threw the Anderfels, and Josephine, I need your expertise in trading to fill our coffers.” She locked eyes with Leliana and gave her a small nod, which the spymaster returned.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something about the whereabouts of the former mayor Milady.” The former Bard responded, quickly picking up on the fact that the elf wasn’t fond of the title they’d given her.

“I look forward to it than.” The elf coupled the menacing tone with a wide toothy grin that showed off the mouthful of oddly pointed teeth. The muscles around Leliana’s face were the one tell that the sight was unnerving to her. Most wouldn’t have caught it, but the elves have quick eyes, and it didn’t escape the rogue’s observance. Josephine wasn’t so lucky; she gasped and took a slight step back. Human ears only barely would have caught the sound of her gasp, but Fáelán heard it clearly as a bell. Cullen may have seen the broadest range of moods, and reactions from their Inquisitor out of the three, but that didn’t prepare him for this particular sight, and he too gave a slight gasp recovering nearly as quickly as Josephine had.

The eerie grimace disappeared as soon as it had appeared, and the elf before them suddenly looked exhausted behind her neutral expression. She held a hand up to her forehead and fixed the current selection of missions available on the table with one eye, before catching sight of the pile of reports stacked on the side of the desk.

“Dismissed, get a page to run whatever needs my attention up to the rookery. I’m going for a nap.” Josephine shared a puzzled look with Leliana.

“Err, the rookery my Lady?” the antivan asked, her left eyebrow rose questioningly. “What about your quarters?”

“My what?” Fáelán responded with a tone somewhere between flat and incredulous.

“Your quarters milady. We made certain they were ready for you as soon as we could. They were ready before you left for the Fallow Mire.” She explained.

“I wasn’t aware there was such an area.”

“But of course!” Josephine exclaimed, hiding a giggle behind her hand. “I can’t believe you weren’t made aware of them earlier. Please don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping in the rookery since we got here.” Fáelán’s one eyed gaze was flat, and she was silent for long enough to inform the diplomat that no one had informed their leader that she had had a bed waiting for her in the place they now called home.

“So where might they be exactly?” she asked instead. Josephine ushered her to the door to her quarters and told her that she’d send someone with enough hot water to take a bath in as well as the reports that needed her attention.

Fáelán nodded to the diplomat before she closed the door to what appeared to be the entryway to her quarters. She passed the stones that sat idly on the boardwalk, deciding that she’d pay more attention to it all later. She opened another door and climbed the stairs to what was most certainly a bedroom before her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide.

Plush colourful carpets, stained glass doors that lead to balconies with exceptional views of the mountains that surrounded Skyhold, a canopy bed with a note from Josephine suggesting that the diplomat had figured that this bed would be more to her liking. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace with enough wood to keep it going for quite a while, a couch sat beside the banister, a well-organized desk surrounded by bookshelves in the corner. Behind the bed there was a hallway. One side of it held a privy; the other held a ladder and a few casks of some fine sort of wine. She climbed the ladder to the small mezzanine above the canopy bed. One side of the mezzanine held cleaning supplies, the other was empty. She climbed back down to her room and noticed another shelf in the corner opposite the entrance, ladies armoire, a dresser and a folding screen that she assumed would be where she’d dress. She wandered over to the armoire and pulled open a door to find a mirror on the door. Inside the wardrobe was a variety of clothing, some of which were even dresses and more formal clothing. She allowed her jaw to drop further, if that were possible, as she admired the fine workmanship of the items. Some of it was obviously human made, but someone had apparently gone to great lengths to ornament some of the items with a deliberately Dalish style. Her mouth closed as she slowly closed the doors of the armoire and tried not to let slip that she was incredibly shocked and touched that her advisors had gone to such trouble for her. She wandered over to the shelf behind the dressing screen and found her stock of herbs, the musical pipe that she’d left in the cottage before they went off to seal the Breach, as well as some of the tools that she used to shape and carve stone or wood, as well as the tools she used to maintain her weapons and armour. She made a mental note to find out who’d gone back to the cottage in Haven to gather her things during the attack, and thank them profusely. She added another mental note to that list to figure out which of her advisors had been responsible for all of this work to make her feel more at home and to thank them profusely.

She’d never seen so many finely made things in her life, and the effect was somewhat dizzying.

A knock at the door came and she answered it, the young elf who’d been so terrified when she’d delivered elfroot to the cottage she’d recovered in, answered the door shyly. She and another human brought in a large copper tub and set water to boil before beginning to fill the tub for her. Fáelán watched them work, finding out that there was a water supply to the room that was back under the mezzanine, and that there was a cauldron for such things sitting by the fire. The young elf maid also pointed out a set of cups and a pot and a kettle for tea that was in a small shelf beside the desk. _Her_ desk, she corrected. Also somewhere in the mezzanine area was a bunch of blankets if she should get cold during the night, and some soft fluffy towels for when she bathed. The elf maid poured some floral smelling oil into the steaming water from a vial in a small cupboard by the privy area and the scent flooded the room. Fáelán smelled the air and gave a rare soft smile. She would have to thank Leliana as well for obtaining more of the incredibly scented oil for her. The elf maid set the finished reports on her desk and curtsied.

“Thank-you.” Fáelán replied to the maid’s gesture. The smile she had on her face as she said it was genuine and warm, and the maid almost tripped over her feet as she straightened up and left.

The exhausted elf peeled herself out of her armour and gave it a thorough look over, examining it in detail for what she might need to fix. Sighing, she draped it over the edge of the banister before stripping out of the under armour that she wore and stepped into the bath, letting out a low hiss as the heat crept up her skin. Slipping under the water, she found that she almost fell asleep under the influence of the heat. The rest of the evening was spent attempting to sort out her armour, writing her reports for the Fallow Mire and Crestwood, before she fell into bed exhausted.

 

She spent the morning continuing to work on her reports. She found herself food and made certain that she got more of it threw the day. She ate ravenously and felt better. After she’d done most of her reports, she took another look at her armour before deciding that she needed a new set anyway.

Dressed in a pair of black pants, knee high black boots, a sleeveless forest green tunic and her hair had tiny braids over the crown of her head that flowed over the rest of it into a ponytail; she wandered across the main hall with her armour. Harrit and Dagna looked over it. Dagna was optimistic, Harrit was practical, and between the three of them they had another set of armour in the works in short order. She had Dagna enchant her daggers before thanking them both, and returning to her room with the weapons. Removing her boots, she wandered out to find some food before taking whatever she could scrounge out the back entrance to the back courtyard.

Skyhold was bustling, and she quickly made her way to the stables. Her hart butted his head against her hand when she held out her hand to let him know that she was there. He was a spirited mount, but it was obvious that he was devoted to her. She gave him a tiny smile before grooming him. The simple act was calming, for him and for her. It was meditative, and she found she could get away from the bustle of far more people than she was used too when she did so.

She placed the brushes back on the shelf in the main area of the stables when a small trill caught her ear. Her ear flicked out as she paused, waiting for the sound again. When she heard it, she turned silently, seeking out the source of the sound. Something black moved out from under a lump of hay. Green eyes saw her and soft fluffy paws brought the little kitten over to her. Fáelán sunk to her knees in front of the feline, eyeing it carefully as it trilled at her again. Leaping onto her lap, she cocked her head to the side as she regarded it. Offering the baby her hand, the kitten smelled her and rubbed against her. She wasn’t used to cats, but the motions were similar to what Vetta had done, and she found herself scratching the fur ball under its chin. The kitten purred softly before leaping into her lap.

The elf startled as the kitten curled up on her legs, peering at it curiously.

“Ah, so the little one found someone then.” Blackwall said with a slight smile. Fáelán looked up to see the warden leaning against a beam beside a work table. She gave him a small shy smile before looking down at the purring feline again. “Her ma and her kin have been adopted by the refugees from Haven; apparently she was too small for anyone to notice her. But she’s never taken to anyone like this though.” He came over and knelt beside the two, offering his gloved fingers to the little fuzzy creature in her lap. He rubbed his fingers together, creating a soft sound that the kitten would notice. Perking her head up, she gave his hands a disdainful look before curling up again in Fáelán’s lap. Blackwall chuckled.

“She reminds me of you. She’s picky about who she chooses to spend her time with. She speaks a little more than you do I find.”

“Does she?” she asked, hesitantly petting the head of the kitten. Blackwall nodded.

“When she wants attention, she lets me know. It’s less often now, as her mama didn’t feed her as often as she needed. She had a big litter; I think she might have been out of milk. I’ve been feeding her when she calls.” Blackwall gave the feline a fond look. “I think she’s chosen you to be her new ma.”

“Is she weaned?”

“Almost.” He stood and went shuffling in a shelf that appeared to contain tools before coming back with a satchel that he emptied out beside the two. It contained a bottle. “I’ve been getting milk from the kitchens and feeding her for a bit. Now she’s eating whatever meat I can get from the kitchens now. I shred it and add a little mashed wheat to it for her. She seems to like that.” She nodded.

“Makes sense, babies eat whatever their parents eat in a softer form.”

“She didn’t like me much, but I think she’s decided she’s yours now.” Fáelán blinked, scooping the feline up and cradled her between her palms. The kitten fit perfectly in her cupped hands.

“Is what Blackwall says true? Have you decided you’re mine?” she asked the kitten. The ball of black fuzz with orange streaks in her hands blinked at her, green eyes shining under lowered lids. She yawned widely, far wider than you’d expect for something with such a small mouth, showing off shining white teeth. Blinking sleepily at the elf, she began purring, the sound reverberating up Fáelán’s hands as Blackwall burst into a grin.

“I guess that settles it then eh Milady?”

“I guess it does. I suppose I should look to her accommodations then, shouldn’t I?”

“Sounds like a good plan.” The warden rose with her, offering her the satchel that he’d packed again before giving her a briefing on what the kitten would probably need. He noted the slight twist of her lips before he asked. “You’re not used to cats are you?” Fáelán scratched absently at the head of the kitten in her palms, listening as she purred just loud enough to hear.

“My clan didn’t really keep pets, the one that we did end up with was more of a partner than a pet. I’m more familiar with wolves than I am with cats.”

“Oh? This is a story I’d not mind hearing.” The warden peered at her curiously but nodded as she shook her head.

“Perhaps another time Ser Blackwall.”

“As you wish milady. I would suggest discussing your new friend’s living arrangements with Josephine, so she knows to mention to the staff that this little one is a pet, not a pest.” She nodded in response.

“Thank you Blackwall, that’s a good idea.” She bowed and left, cradling the kitten in her hand as she put the satchel over her shoulder.

Josephine was made aware of the newest companion of the Inquisitor and as requested, made certain that the staff knew to leave her alone. Privately, Fáelán sought out the elven maid who’d found her originally in Haven and asked her if she knew anything of cats. Having ascertained that she did, Fáelán asked if she’d keep an eye on the little kitten.

The calico kitten soon became a fixture of life around Fáelán at Skyhold. She was lucky in the sense that those who were allergic to it were made aware before there was trouble, as the kitten adopted the elf literally as a mother, and rode around on her shoulders like falcon might. Fáelán called her Cerato, which when she was questioned, revealed that it was reference to a flower, but that was all she would give. Varric was the only one who’d asked, of course, and was the most put out by the answer she’d given.

 

Life settled in Skyhold, there were reports going back and forth between the advisors and the newly titled Inquisitor, repairs were made to the castle, Varric brought the former Champion of Kirkwall to Skyhold to meet the Inquisitor, which prompted a massive blow-up between him and Cassandra, Leliana sent out a call for teachers to instruct the Inquisitor further in her trade, and Dagna did her level best to not make the undercroft explode.

The kitchens began to adapt to the fact that most mornings there was well butchered game to add to the menu for the day. It confused them at first, but Varric soon made them understand that it was a gift and that it shouldn’t be questioned. It should just be used.

Varric set up Wicked Grace and Diamondback nights in the newly fixed Heralds Rest, and found that most of the solders as well as the advisors and her companions joined in. There was soon a jovial attitude towards the evenings, and it was soon discovered that Josephine made an exceptional player of Wicked Grace, while Cullen discovered that he was far richer if he stuck to Diamondback. One particular person rarely appeared, and her absence was noted, but not commented on. In fact, the Inquisitor rarely appeared even for a drink. Instead, she worked herself to the bone with everything she did.

She would be up with the recruits every morning, training against them or with Blackwall and Iron Bull’s newly formed young companies, teaching and training those around her. She worked with Dorian and Solas when she could drag the latter from his painting, learning staff work and sparring with both staff and daggers against the mages. Occasionally, she even worked with and against Vivienne, learning how to spar against the Knight- Enchanter, as well as learning her methods of using the staff. It was clear early, that the rogue could not use the weapons to work with magic, but every mage had been taught to use their staves as weapons if they were out of mana, and so she wanted to learn as much as she could of that method of fighting. She drilled herself regularly, so much so that she’d often sport bruises all over herself. The mages were not the only people to be targeted by her incredible thirst for learning, she worked with Sera, and learning advanced bowman-ship to build on what she already knew. She learned from Khim about what Sera was, and listened closely to the information they taught her about the way of the Tempest. She sparred against Cole, both of them using wooden knives instead of their own lethal daggers. Varric often watched as the spirit and she sparred. The spirit sometimes couldn’t explain what exactly she was doing incorrectly where Varric could see what had happened and explain. She spoke with Heir about the way of the Assassin, learning the basics even as she had not decided which specialization she wished to pursue. She spoke with Three-Eyes briefly, spoke with Varric for clarification, and tried to make a simple trap under Varric’s tutelage.

Varric laughed out loud when she growled under her breath as the trap snapped on her arm. Once she extricated her limb from the sharp teeth of the trap, she shook her head and almost stomped away. When telling Cullen later, Varric swore up and down that she looked exactly like Cassandra. This was before Fáelán requested that Varric not tell that tale of her again.

Out of the three specializations, it was clear that the way of the Artificer was not the one that she’d choose.

‡

Even Sera was stunned that the closed rift under the lake made such a difference on the area of Crestwood. It had gone from wet and dark to somewhat sunny, even if it was still soggy and raining. She almost went looking for rainbows. The elf was even more pleased to see that the little people of Crestwood seemed to be recovering from the terror they had lived with for so long. They arrived at the keep beside the dam and Fáelán did a quick round of all of the informers who made the keep their base of operations while the rest of her companions waited, and took the time to relax.

“Aren’t we to go find the Warden that Hawke spoke of?” Dorian asked on one of her trips past them.

“Not without Varric.”

“That seems a little silly.” Cassandra pointed out as she examined the edge of her sword. “Considering that the Wardens are a far bigger threat than most of the things in Crestwood.”

“There are bandits terrorizing the people, more demons to get rid of, a few rifts I hadn’t gotten to the last time we were here, there are assassin marks I need for my blade for Hier, and I believe I heard something about a dragon.”

“Dragon?!” asked Sera, her eyes flashing with something that made Fáelán flash a grin under the scarf she wore.

“I thought you might like that.”

“You should have brought Bull then! He loves the idea of dragons!”

“There’s one in the Hinterlands that I think Bull claimed dibs on.”

“You brought me out here to fight a dragon? Not Venatori or something civilized, but a dragon?!” asked Dorian agape. Fáelán’s eyebrow rose.

“I’ll remind you how civilized the next time we’re busy taking them out and all of us need to be healed after being set upon by a mage and their civilized swordsman.” She looked wistfully out at the area that had once been rippling water and froth. “I don’t know if we’ll get to all this before we’re too beat up to do much else.”

“Oh, you mean you have to get back to Lady stuck up to do more ‘ball lessons’.” Fáelán pinned the elfish rogue with a glare that indicated that was exactly what was on her mind. Sera ignored the glare, giggling instead. “You should just ignore her.” Fáelán didn’t move, instead checked her belt for her potions and made the signal for ‘move out.’ Full of groans, they followed her threw a door and down a ladder, one they hadn’t been threw before.

She stooped to gather a protruding deep mushroom at her feet, only to reach for her knives as Sera let out a screech and Dorian started yelling something about normal sized spiders. Cassandra was quickly at her side and attracting the albino spider’s attention as she threw a smoke bomb down and started ripping her knives threw the smaller spiders that had descended with the larger one. She didn’t bother stopping to stare at the spindly legs that tried tripping her on more than a few occasions, just continued slicing and dicing as much as she could. The smell that came through the cave as Dorian set it on fire was enough to make her gag reflex spit up, but she swallowed back the bile in her throat and focused on the dance. She heard it screech as Sera’s arrows pierced the soft underbelly, and used the distraction to hack off a leg or two. The spider screamed in pain and she was suddenly facing too many black eyes on a canvas of white with green coated pincers that reached for her like sharpened hands.

 _Uh oh,_ she thought, leaping into a backflip and evading the sheering weapons. It spat a wad of white at her, freezing her feet to the spot as she landed in the sticky goo. It skittered forwards as she worked to free herself. Giant legs and pincers came closer, suddenly stopping in front of her as Dorian froze it solid. Her feet were suddenly free, and she leapt over green coated sharp, and ripped into the spider as she ran over its back. She tumbled off the arachnid as it let out a final screech, before falling forward onto its stomach.

“Erch” said Sera in disgust.

“For once dear girl, I agree with you.” Dorian said, sporting the same unhappy look as the elf beside him. Cassandra said nothing, but grunted instead. Fáelán stood, stretching as she moved before going over and riffling through the spider’s remains. Her eyebrows flew skyward when she uncovered a schematic for a particular grenade that had a significant amount of bite to it. She pocketed it carefully before dusting herself off and moving around the spider carcass to continue picking the mushrooms around it. Cassandra watched her progress before shaking her head and following.

They found their way out to a still soggy area that had been formerly covered in water and walked threw it towards a rumoured rift.

Apparently, it wasn’t a rumour, but they’d by now found how to work together as a fairly coherent team, and surprisingly it didn’t take much to seal this particular rift.

“Another one off the list.” Cassandra stated as the lime green line between Fáelán’s hand and the tear in the veil broke. Fáelán nodded as she moved to where the demons had died. “How many more do you think there are?”

“Too many.” Sera retorted. Fáelán shrugged as she consulted the little book she carried with her that carried all the things she’d committed too in each region.

“Do you really have no thoughts on the whole affair?” the seeker questioned her. Fáelán fixed her with a look. Upon seeing the look, Dorian let out a full throated laugh.

“Milady Seeker, I believe you will get few places asking the quiet one to answer you.” Fáelán shrugged in response as the Seeker glared at the mage.

“Hier said something about there being a small pack of assassins up this way. We’ll see who they’re bothering.”

“If it’s little people, they’re dead!” Sera snarled her eyes bright and fierce. Cassandra let out a small chuckle at the elf’s determination.

They hiked up the rocky hills, gathering some of the embrium that grew wild as they went, and stopping for all of the elfroot. None of the party complained, as both Sera and Cassandra were apt to do, as all of them knew the value of elfroot. The sun was setting as they found the few bandits that kept the assassin among their ranks, and a well-placed arrow from Sera showed them that they meant business.

Fáelán immediately worked to take out the surrounding archers while they focused on Cassandra before she felt the sharp blades of another rogue sink into her back. Most of it was held back by the armour, but she still felt blood begin to trickle down her skin under the leather and chain mail. She growled under her breath as she finished off the archer and turned her attention to the assassin behind her. Their movements became a frantic dance of flashing around each other, Fáelán mimicking the motions of the enemy she faced. They both tired from their individual parts in the dance. The opponent tiring far faster due to Sera and Dorian bombarding them with spells and projectiles, Fáelán tiring due to the unfamiliar movements she was taking and making her own.

It didn’t take long before the assassin fell, collapsing under the weight of her own body, her face frozen in a mask of horror brought about by Dorian’s spell. Fáelán stood over them for a moment or two, breathing hard as she attempted to both make sure the assailant was dead and also to regain her breath. Satisfied that her attacker drew breath no longer, she crouched and rifled through their clothing, seeking the knife she’d been told to obtain. She almost screamed when a still warm hand clamped down around her wrist. The grip was like the iron, immobile and hard. Her eyes flashed to the hand, and then to the face of the supposedly dead enemy at her feet.

The eyes were strange, and red. Fáelán jerked back, she knew that look, she’d seen it enough in her nightmares. She kept herself calm, barely, her other hand curled into a fist that collided solidly with the jaw of her downed enemy. The crack of bone made Sera flinch. Muttering under her breath, Fáelán pulled the assassins token from the sheath on the corpse’s belt. Upon seeing it, she dropped it with a startled gasp. Swallowing, she wrenched her wrist from the grip of the would-be assassin before examining the hand that collided with jaw. She’d probably cracked a knuckle or two, potentially broken a few of her finger bones. She looked down at the knife that stood blade deep in the grass. She glared at it viciously before grasping it angrily and cutting through the belt of the corpse so she could withdraw the sheath that had held it. She buckled it onto her own belt before standing.

“We’re done for tonight. Let’s get out of here.”

 

They had all seen the red eyes of the corpse, but Fáelán wouldn’t talk about it. Cassandra was convinced it was a demon, but could find no one willing to discuss it. Sera refused to discuss the idea of demons so close to them now, despite the fact she’d made it a game of how many eyes she could put arrows threw. Dorian also refused to speak of it, and quietly told Cassandra that this was not a subject to discuss. When she asked why, all he had to do was point to their Inquisitor. She was barely there, staring intently into the fire like the rest of the world didn’t matter. Usually as soon as darkness fell, she would be off hunting, listening carefully to their banter over the fire, or joining in with a small drink of whatever they had on them, but tonight she was barely there. It unnerved them.

When Sera tried to rouse her friend, Fáelán wordlessly gathered her arrows and left into the darkness. She didn’t return even as the moon grew higher overhead.

“What do you think it was?” Cassandra asked finally as the three of them kept a quiet vigil into the night.

“A nightmare.” Dorian responded.

“Not a demon?” Sera asked.

“May have been one, but it was definitely a nightmare.”

“How can you tell?” Cassandra asked, her lips pursed around the lip of her cup. “How do you know that the red wasn’t red lyrium?”

“It didn’t have the same red as the blighted mage crystal.” Sera said quietly. “It shone different, not like lyrium.”

“That assassin didn’t begin to glow until after it was dead, or supposedly dead. Solas would probably be able to tell us more, but without him here, he might not even believe us.” Dorian replied.

“But you said it was a nightmare.” Cassandra began only to stop as Dorian shook his head.

“You sensed what I sensed, or I imagine you did. You know the feeling of a demon, Seeker, what did you feel?”

“Don’t say demon, don’t say demon, oh piss, you’re serious aren’t you? It was a demon?” said Sera. Cassandra looked down at her tea.

“I felt something demonic for a minute. I don’t understand why it targeted her though.”

“You notice it didn’t go looking for the anchor eh?” Dorian gulped back the remainder of his mug before drawing the back of his hand across his mouth.

“What you mean?” Sera tipped her head to the side, her brows furrowed slightly.

“It didn’t look at her hand, and the anchor didn’t flash, it was looking her in the eyes.”

“You think its Corephy-spit?” Sera asked.

“I don’t think it would have let her go so easily if it was.”

“Agreed.” Cassandra stared up at the moon for a few moments longer. “Get some rest you two, I’ll wake you for your watch. We’ll see when she returns.” The mage and the rogue nodded before crawling into their respective tents.

The elf in question appeared sometime in the early morning light with a clutch of small animals over her shoulder. She was limping, and entirely covered in blood. Her own, that of the creatures she’d slain, green splashes of demon blood, and her enemies. On her belt was another assassin’s token. Dorian’s mouth dropped to his chest when he saw her, but he did nothing but shake his head when she wordlessly requested healing. Under her armour were several new wounds that hadn’t been there at the beginning of the night, and the mage noticed her picking at her mark, a habit she usually did when the mark had had much use in a short time. She didn’t volunteer any information, he didn’t ask. They understood each other enough by now that she felt comfortable with him, and he with her, at least to some degree. Once he’d healed her, she rinsed some of the blood off her skin before she sat by the fire and started in on the maintenance of her knives. Dorian finally fixed her with an irritated look once he realized she’d run herself ragged and was preparing to do so again.

“Milady, you need rest.” She shook her head as she continued to run a sharpening stone over the edges of her blades. “You are worn out, exhausted and need rest if any of those bones you broke yesterday are going to set.” That idea made her stop suddenly, and she stared down at her hand. She sighed in response, and he had to lean down close to her to hear her reply.

“It’s too early to rest, I’m not wasting a day if I don’t have too.” Dorian let out an irritated sigh before snatching her whetstone from her fingers along with the blade she’d been working on.

“You will rest for a while at least; otherwise we are not going anywhere.” Her eyebrows shot up on her forehead as she stared incredulously at the mage, not certain if she should lean on the power of the Inquisitor to order him to stop, or if he was actually serious about ordering her to bed. “It’s a few hours before dawn, rest until then. Is that agreeable Fáelán?” She fixed him with a glare, but slowly began to comply. He could almost hear her grumbling as she walked soundlessly to her tent, pulled it open and buried herself in her furs. It didn’t take him a few minutes before the sound of her potential grumbling was replaced with the slow and deep sound of her long pulls of breath that suggested she was asleep. He grinned to himself as he pulled out a book to keep himself company until the sun cast long rays over the cliff side.

 

Cassandra and Sera emerged from their tents soon after and the three of them made themselves some semblance of food with what she’d brought back from her trip during the night. Together, the three of them butchered her kills and took turns searching the area outside of the campsite for useful items.

The sun was beginning to cast soft shadows behind rocks in the mid-morning before they heard a high pitched scream come from the camp. Sera dropped the embrium she was gathering and raced up the hill. What she found was Fáelán almost falling out of her tent in her haste to get away from the leather and cloth enclosure. She was sweat soaked and tense, she looked like she’d seen the ghosts of all of her clan, and perhaps she had.

“Goodness Inquisitor,” Cassandra began as she stopped at Sera’s side. “You look…”

“Awful.” Sera interrupted, her eyes taking in the bedraggled elf with something between worry and fear.

“You do look sick Fáelán.” Her hands moved back and forth in a motion she often used for ‘ignore this’. She spun her finger in a circle, the normal sign for ‘move out’, and took a step forward. The step had her pitching precariously sideways, and Cassandra stepped forward to catch her.

“Maker above!” she swore as she felt the elf’s body temperature threw her sweat soaked leathers. Despite Fáelán’s best intentions, the Seeker’s hand found her way to her forehead where she swore again. Fáelán rolled her eyes as Cassandra started in on how she was too sick to do anything else that day, that they were going back to Skyhold, and that she was on bedrest until she got better.

“Not until we find the last assassin token. I won’t go back to Hier empty handed!” she growled as the Seeker started trying to pull her in direction of their makeshift stable and the horses inside it.

“Oh, you mean this?” Dorian held up a sheathed knife he’d been hiding behind his back. Fáelán quickly grabbed it from his hand, comparing it to the ones that sat loosely on her belt.

“How did you-?”

“Sera helped.” Her eyes sought out the face of the archer, who gave her a two fingered salute and a pleased smile. Fáelán felt herself go limp in the Seeker’s insistent grasp.

“As you wish then, Cassandra.”

It took them a few days to get back to Skyhold. Once that was done, Fáelán did as she usually did, brief her council, sell off superfluous gear, outfit all of her companions, and begin writing reports. Cassandra even had a few words with Vivienne about ‘Court Lessons’, that Fáelán had been attending since they realized that they would be required to impress the Orlesian Court, and Vivienne acquiesced, sending her books from her own collection about things she would need to learn. But Fáelán didn’t rest, as she’d been bid, she worked as she always did, which prompted Cassandra to start checking up on her. More often than not, she’d knock on the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters, not get an answer, enter to check on their leader, and find her asleep over a half finished report on her desk, or one of Vivienne’s books.

 

Varric’s card nights had become a real hit with Skyhold, and once or twice a week the Heralds Rest would fill to bursting. Cullen had long learned that those nights were good if you wished to feel cramped, and he had no will to feel as such this evening. It was a cool night, one in which you would normally wear an extra coat, but he was comfortable in his armour and surcoat. It didn’t hurt that the last few hours of paperwork had exacerbated a withdrawal headache. He had long ago run out of tea that helped with them, and had been meaning to ask the Inquisitor for the recipe, or better yet, some more of the mix. Something had always come up when he’d tried to ask, or put it on a list of things to ask her, but it, like so many other things were often swept away for the more important things. The cool air was helping right now, and that’s all that mattered.

The ramparts were blissfully empty as he enjoyed the night air and the sight of the moon on the newly repaired stone walkways. He stopped to overlook some of the peaks of the Anderfels, enjoying the cool air that blew from them. His eyes were caught by a small flash of lightning over the walls. There was no thunder that accompanied it, and it was far too close to the ground to be a storm. He focused his eyes on it, noticing that it came from a small forest that surrounded one of the sides of the fortress they called home. The flashes came again, and this time he caught the sight of green in between the leaves of the trees. He knew those flashes and sighed.

He had planned on asking her eventually, might as well be now.

 

Cullen walked towards where he had seen the light flashing threw the trees. He found her exactly where he’d thought she would be, but he didn’t expect to see her doing what she was doing.

There was a small electrical storm that rained down blows of lightning to the ground, as if someone was consistently casting chain lighting at nothing. She herself was ricocheting herself off branches and tree trunks, moving between the flashes of lightning, and slashing at… Were those training dummies?

Apparently, the Inquisitor was dodging lightning, lightning she had called, and was using the trees as landing platforms to leap from, all while she used her blades to rip through training dummies.

He was impressed. Not by the barely contained magic, but by the fact that this was what she did during the night.

He watched, curious for a few seconds longer before something started to stick out to him. Her movement was almost sloppy. This was a woman who could move without behind heard, who only was noticed when she fell through unstable rooftops, which could (by all accounts) be a shadow that brought death from above. This was the same woman who with every step, almost slipped, who had left her leather and metal armour in a heap at the entrance to the grove because she was only barely dodging the lightning itself, a woman whose hair stuck to her skin from the sweat, and who looked far paler than usual.

Impressed as he was, he started to notice the fact that her steps were not as sure as they always tended to be, that she was unsteady, and that every step and motion pitched her to one side or another. He wasn’t sure if he should call out to her, or wait for her to stop. He had a feeling that if he stepped into the grove he would be nothing but an armoured lightning rod.

She was tiring, that was something he could easily see, but as she grew more exhausted, he noticed the lightning beginning to stop. It fizzled out suddenly and the grove was left with shattered moonlight to flitter threw the leaves of the trees above. He watched as she missed a step and slid down a trunk, smacking herself in the face on the way down. She didn’t move from her spot on the ground for a few seconds before rolling over with a groan and lying back in the leaves. She touched a finger to the blood under her nose before dragging the back of her hand to wipe it away, leaving a bright red trail across her face, and across the back of her hand.

“Milady?” he called softly. She rolled over with a groan, her eyes caught sight of him, but he could tell she was anything but stable.

“Oh great.” She growled in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “The Templar commander is back to tell the lying apostate what to do.” Pushing herself up off the ground, she swayed in her walking as she moved to a small pile of objects across the grove. First it was a scrap of fabric that she used to clean the blood from under her nose; she almost fell over as she reached to gather two skins into her hands. She drank deeply from the first, before corking it again and leaned against a tree. She eyed him predatorily, like a creature that didn’t like being cornered before she uncorked another flask and took a healthy swig of it.

“What can I do for you, Commander?” she asked, blowing out a breath that smelled strongly of some form of strong alcohol. She held the skin so she could take long pulls from it, but her lidded gaze never left his. He swallowed, her gaze unnerved him and left his skin riddled with a feeling of cold.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She quirked an eyebrow at him, lowering the skin from her mouth before dragging the back of her hand over her mouth, leaving a blood red streak behind. Her nose was still bleeding, but it didn’t appear that she cared.

“Does it matter?” she spat the words like sour wine from her mouth. He took a quick step back, not expecting how her posture moved from irritated to defensive.

“You’ve been sick.”

“According to…?” she asked. Cullen swallowed, suddenly unsure.

“You don’t look particularly good.” He straightened his posture, his hands resting together on his sword handle.

“Neither do you. But I’m not the only one who hasn’t been sleeping it seems.”

“Touché.” He looked around at the grove as she took another long pull of the alcohol in the skin. The tree bark had been scraped from trees; there were scattered leaves from her maneuvering in the branches, and patches of charred grass from where the lightning kept frying it. His eyes turned back to hers as he watched her cork the skin and unsteadily set it back down on the ground. She was shaking, and her movements were at best, unsteady. Now that the skin was no longer in her hands, he watched as she wrung them before placing them behind her back and holding them against the trunk of the tree. It was a nervous reaction, one he recognized from watching some of his subordinates, but not one he expected from the Inquisitor. “Do you normally come here to … do whatever it was you’re doing?”

“Were you planning on coming by with Templars at some point to stop me?” He sighed.

“Should I have apologised earlier? When I realized I was incorrect?”

“Do you really believe you ever were incorrect? Am I no less a dangerous apostate in your eyes?” He sought out her gaze with his own, keeping it level even as hers was accusatory.

“You appear to have control of whatever power you have, it appears as though you are no danger to anyone around you unless you are angry with them, and you appear to have enough control that you do not hit those under your care, or those who you are leading.”

“Oh, I am so honoured with your commendation!” her words were sour and he flinched at the obvious distain in them. “Let me ask you something Commander.” She was suddenly close to him, as if he blinked and she was suddenly within his personal space. _Overwhelmingly_ so, if he were to be honest with himself. “If the roguish apostate were to suddenly slip up? What if I were suddenly to become a danger to you or anyone under my command? What then?” He took a sharp step back to distance himself from her closeness. She followed. Her eyes were flashing, angry and daring him to act, to do something. He realized that even with her partially inebriated state, she moved like a predator, and if there was one thing he was not used to doing, it was acting the part of prey. “What would the great former _Knight-Captain_ do?” she hissed his former title like it was a challenge.

“That is no longer my title.” He answered with a growl. He saw the slight upturn to the side of her mouth, how the mask of anger rippled slightly into a predatory sneer.

“Deflecting.” She waved away his response with a sharp word. “Answer me.”

“I would stop you.”

“How.”

“Any way I had too.” His answer was spoken with raw conviction. The same tone he’d used when he’d called out to the Inquisition to recognize her as their leader. Her eyes narrowed again.

“Prove it.” She stepped back from him, her stance having shifted from predatory and imposing to an athletic crouch that was no less imposing.

He knew she was trying to provoke him, he had a feeling that between the alcohol that hung heavily on every breath she drew and whatever exhaustion she was fighting, that this was a combination of anger, frustration and some other feeling he couldn’t put his finger on. His response was to forbear, and he stood still, eyeing her coldly with his hands still placed on the hilt of his sword. His reaction only spurred her into more goading.

“Come on Templar!” her loud demand was only just heard under the sudden crackle of electricity that balled from her hands and into the air. The lightning danced around the grove full of trees, most of it barely missing him, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of the metal he was wearing, or because of her control over it. He remained still as it continued raining down around him, watching as her upper lipped pulled back in a jeer and as her eyes flashed a challenge. His own eyes narrowed as he watched her. What was she doing? What was she thinking? It was almost as if she didn’t care for her own safety in this display. Perhaps she didn’t have as much control over it as he’d thought or perhaps any at all. The lightning almost hit her as often as it almost grazed him, but despite how much metal he was wearing, it would almost come close to hitting him but never so close that he would be harmed from it. On the other hand, it fizzed over her skin enough that he could see lashes of red mark her limbs. The electricity singed whatever hair she had on her arms and licked over her skin.

He closed his eyes for a moment, calling on the powers that he’d given up long ago for a chance at freedom. The process came back to him as clearly as it always had, and even without lyrium he felt the power spring to where he could use it. He felt the coil of power form, before it snapped outwards from him. The lightning ceased as the shockwave moved outwards from him and he watched as the elf in front of him collapsed to her knees.

Whatever had just happened had wrapped around her insides and _squeezed_. It hurt, like few things she’d ever endured had, and she found that she couldn’t breathe. She gasped for air for a few seconds before she became aware of the sound of boots approaching threw the leaves, and she scrambled to get herself on her feet. His eyes were cold and narrowed, and his movements were that of a predator closing in on its prey. She found herself backtracking as fast as she could without exposing her back to him. She still could only take half breaths. It felt like something had gripped strings at her core and had an iron grasp on them. She felt her back thud into a sturdy and thick tree trunk and quickly looked for other options for escape. The Templar planted a hand beside her head and she felt something wickedly sharp press firmly against her throat. Not so hard that it would draw blood, but definitely firmly enough to deter her from moving too much. Escape was officially out of the cards for this moment.

“So you can be stopped with Templar abilities.” He stated coldly. She forced out a breathy laugh, refusing to back down or give in. She was still riding the wave of emotion, alcohol, and a whole host of other emotions, many of which could be considered downright dangerous.

“And now you have the dangerous apostate pinned. Don’t you feel proud of yourself?” He growled menacingly under his breath, but she refused to back down.

_Are you insane? You’re barely standing, you’re caught with no escape, and you still feel like provoking me is a good thing?_

“You work yourself to the bone, and then get drunk. You can barely stand straight, you’re exhausted, and you are supposed to be sick. Why are you out here trying to provoke me instead of being in bed and getting better so you can do what the rest of us cannot?!” His question did nothing but make her sneer deepen. “Why are you doing this?!”

“Does it matter?”

The question caught him entirely off guard. Out of all the responses he would have expected from her, this was not it.

“Would you believe me if I told you? Would you care? Or would you see another reason to suspect me? Another reason why I am dangerous?” She looked up at him, her gaze vacant and calm. The change in emotions and demeanour almost gave him whiplash with how fast it’d changed. Shaking her head, she continued. “You wouldn’t. To you I am just another potential threat, although I suppose after tonight, you will not find my potential status as an ‘untrained apostate’ any further threat as you’ve established you can disarm me quite thoroughly.” Her voice was hollow, and coupled with the vacant stare in her eyes, it alarmed him.

“What are you planning Fáelán?”

“Does it matter?”

“I know the look of those who have little hope, who carry on out of will and out of habit, not out of a wish to continue.” His somber response did nothing to shift her manner, although she let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“I suppose you would know, having done so yourself.” He tensed at that, how did she know?

“If I back away, will you attack me again?”

“If I did, would you kill me?” Her response came like a blow, and he reeled, taking a step back from her, his face a mask of barely contained horror. It wasn’t because she had asked that, but because of the _way_ in which she’d asked. The tone was not her usual barely contained snark, but one that almost resembled a plea.

“Why would you want that?” She shrugged. “You are our leader, the only one we know who can seal the rifts. Why would you even consider death?” She looked away, ashamed.

“Some demons you cannot run from.” His eyebrows flew skyward, but her response didn’t come as quickly as he wanted it too.

“What demons?” he finally prompted her. She gave him a weak smile.

“None you care to hear about.” She tried to sidestep him and move away, but he caged her back against the trunk, mercifully with the blade sheathed.

“Fáelán, what’s wrong?”

“Cullen?” she deflected. He was going to pull her back to the topic at hand, but her expression was that of someone who was barely holding it together.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you made it out of Haven. I’m glad you were able to lead so many to safety. It was a close thing, but I knew that trusting you was a good thing.” He blinked at the sudden change of topic, she was suddenly very good about turning the conversation to completely surprising areas.

“I’m glad that you were able to trust me and that I did not betray that trust.” She nodded and turned her head to look elsewhere. “You...” he began. She looked at him, the tattoos on her brow cutting dark lines across her face. “You stayed behind, you could have…” He trailed off. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again, you have my word.”

“I don’t need your word, I knew after Haven that you would do whatever you could to take care of them.”

“I do not abandon those under my command, something we have in common I suppose.”

“I am a poor keeper it seems. In that regard, we have little in common.” She seemed so lost. Whatever it was that was bothering her seemed to be eating her from the inside. Gone was the furious elf that had called down lightning to provoke him into fighting, gone was the bluster, the anger, the fire that kept her burning from within. She had gone out like a candle, snuffed in the dark. She really did look sick, pale as the moon and shaking like a leaf.

“If you tried to walk, would you even be able too?” he asked.

“Would it matter?” she responded in the same dead tone she’d had since he questioned her motives. He sighed.

“You can’t sleep can you? That’s why you’re out here, that’s why you had such a skin of alcohol.” He felt her forehead with his hand, and even the heavy leather couldn’t disguise how warm her temperature was. “Maker’s breath Fáelán.” She shrugged and pushed his hand away weakly.

“I’m fine, and you’re imagining things.” She took a step forward and her knees went out from under her. He’d suspected that would happen and was ready, catching her as she pitched towards the ground.

“I’ll be imagining you bunking with me tonight as well.” He said as he settled her comfortably against his chest before he walked over to her gear and managed to scoop that up into her lap.

“That’s what you think.” She groaned.

“You really want the Inquisition to find out that you collapsed out in the woods? Or that the Commander had to carry you to the infirmary? At least in my quarters I’ll be able to return the favour you gave me for helping me sleep, and you can sneak out sometime before you’re noticed. I highly doubt that anyone would notice you not in your own quarters. But if you’d rather have me march through Skyhold to make sure you’re in your room, I’m sure that would end up with several wagging tongues.” He stated the facts quite plainly, playing off her hatred of gossip and the truth. She groaned in response.

“Fine, fine… But we never discuss this afterwards, got it?”

“Deal.” He responded.

‡

 


	11. Awkward Rogues and Orphans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Refugees of the small sort bring a potentially interesting wrinkle in the fledgling Inquisition's development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! Finally! A chapter emerges!  
> Mostly where Kyia goes 'right, i was writing this... wait.. what was I doing with all this again?"  
> Also the beginning of more characterization for people, because a friend suggested that Faelan was grouchy for no apparently reason and needed something to soften her.  
> The dalliances will appear to go somewhere, promise. Already have ideas for the next chapter as well. Just need to maneuver around school.

She really was drained. She was so drained that movement was a huge effort, walking was almost impossible, and he still had no idea how exactly he got her into his office and up the ladder into his quarters. It was late by the time they’d managed to get in safely, and Cullen was fairly certain they hadn’t been seen. Those that may have seen them were drunk enough that their sober friends would probably doubt their eyes even when any eyewitnesses could swear to the Maker and on their mother’s grave.

Personally, that was alright with him.

Fáelán was somehow holding up rather well, he noted as he busied himself lighting the few candles he had in his room. As sick as she looked, (and in the candle light that was significantly worse than she’d looked in the moonlight) she’d worked herself hard and then had added some wickedly strong stuff on top of that. He slid down the ladder and obtained a full jug of water and two cups before ascending the rungs with his prizes. He’d laid her armour and personal effects out where she could find them, because he didn’t want to chance her falling between his bed and the wall. He sat beside her on the bed and poured out water into the cups. Handing her a cup of the cold liquid he noted how her hands shook as she brought it to her mouth to sip from it. He reached out to steady it while it was in her hands, mimicking what she had done that night back in Haven.

He couldn’t get over how empty she looked, how incredibly broken. Her eyes still were missing that fire she normally had, her body looked battered and starved, and her cheeks looked hollow. He had a feeling that she hadn’t been eating much as well, which he decided to remedy in the morning, assuming she was still there.

“Considering how much of that concoction you drank, if you need to be sick, the pail is here.” Her eyes barely flickered as he showed her where he had it.

“Why are you doing this?” she finally asked. “You hate me.”

“You assume I hate you.” He responded, not sure how to answer this question given what had happened earlier in the evening. She was in his thoughts often, as much as he wondered if it were she who hated him. It didn’t help of course that she was still in his dreams often, the glimpses he’d seen of the night he’d walked in before she’d bathed in Haven. She was often gone away to do official Inquisition business, but he found that his heart skipped a beat every time the gate guards sounded the horn to announce any arrival in the hope it might be her.

He’d also done his best to ignore such ideas, swiftly putting them from his mind as fast as he can whenever he acknowledged that they even exist. Even this, him inviting her into his quarters knowing that there was only one bed.

_Maker,_ what had he been _thinking!?_ One bed and he’d give it to her. He didn’t have much for extra blankets, so the floor would be rather uncomfortable. What if she thought that he’d assume she’d just want to sleep with him in the bed? What if she got the wrong idea?

The what ifs were suddenly brought to a stop as she started to cough. He checked her forehead again with his bare hand and found the heat to be more intense without his gauntlets on and the leather to shield him from it. She was also slick with sweat he found as he steadied her with a hand on her back.

“So,” she began after the coughing fit had subsided. “How do we plan to do this then? I don’t intent to exile you out of your bed, and you’ve made it clear that you believe that if I try to make it back to my room that I’ll fall off the ramparts.” Her voice was raspy yet still somehow sweet. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking that, but cleared his throat to make it seem like he wasn’t as nervous as he was about this.

“Well, I suppose that if you’re serious about what you said, then we’d sleep together? I wanted to make sure I could keep an eye on you after what happened earlier, but that doesn’t mean we have to _sleep_ together, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and –“

“Cullen, shut up.” She interrupted him. He shut his mouth and felt the burning in his cheeks spread up to the top of his ears. “If I’m to be honest, you’re probably right I would fall off the ramparts. I don’t want you on the floor, you’ll just get sick too. If you’re alright with me in your bed, I’m really too tired to care about how this happens, but I should warn you that there was a reason I didn’t wish to sleep tonight.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather you awaken me with whatever you’re facing than awaken alone in your room.” He said. He didn’t add that one of the reasons he didn’t want her alone tonight was the fear that if she was alone with whatever was keeping her awake, she may not emerge from her chambers the next day.

Her response was a nod before she bent over and started unlacing her boots. He decided that watching her undress probably wouldn’t help right now, given that he apparently was going to spend the night with her tucked in bed with him, and he hadn’t been able to spend a night with a female for more than a few years. He knew that if the lighting were right about now, she’d see that the blush had probably consumed his ears, his face and his neck and as such was grateful for the mediocre light from the candles. Instead of worrying, he busied himself with undressing, efficiently putting all his armour away and making sure that it was neat. He turned back to the bed where she had freed herself of her boots and leggings, but due to the burns from the lightning on her arms was having an immense amount of trouble with the tunic she wore belted at her waist.

He moved to kneel in front of her before glancing up at her eyes. She gave him the tiniest nod, and he unbuckled the belt, before starting to unbutton the tunic so it was easier to slide down her arms. Having done so, he laid out her clothing beside her armour and weapons and coming back to the bed, went fishing in his bed side table for a small pot.

“Adan’s work?” she asked as she looked at it. Upon opening it, the pungent scent of herbal salve broke through the air, and he smoothed it over the wounds on her arms before nodding.

“It works on everything.” He responded as he replaced the jar and retrieved a roll of bandages.

“I may have to see if I can improve it.” She winced as he bandaged the burns on her arms. Replacing the roll of bandage in his table drawer, he turned back to her. Her hands were in her lap and her eyes were downcast, but he found his gaze drawn to the rest of her. She was covered in scars, and he noted with interest that she had a design that reminded him of the tattoos on her face from her shoulders to the knuckles at the base of her fingers. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a few days, even though he had a feeling that that wasn’t the fault of those around her. She still had a variety of half healed wounds covering some of her skin. She was beautiful, but he didn’t know whether she’d ever accept such words falling from his lips. He offered her a hand which she took, weakly, but she did so, and he pulled her to her feet before sweeping the covers back from his bed. Gingerly, she swung herself up onto the soft surface as he went around the other side to where he normally slept.

He noticed that she immediately rolled onto her front. He recognized the posture, protection of vital organs, a defensive movement, and he wondered if it was him she was defending herself from. Carefully, he pulled the blankets over her and tucked her in before seeing to his own comfort. She made herself small in the bed, like a tiny overly warm and slick stick.

“I should warn you that it’s been a while since I had anyone else in my bed, and I’ve been told I’m a bit of a cuddler.” He said quietly. He recognized a shrug from her, and swallowed. The last person he had slept with hadn’t minded him spooning them, but he apparently tended to do so to others in his bed, even to his pillows periodically, so he figured he should warn her. “That usually means spooning, or so I’m told.” He continued. “Do you mind?”

“Try it and I guess we’ll find out.” She responded. He gulped, but carefully slid himself behind her so he could at least have an arm on her shoulder. She tensed as he touched her, but relaxed out of it quickly. “I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable Fáelán.”

“I’ve never slept with a man before.” She admitted to the darkness. He froze. By the Void she was getting good by throwing him pieces of information he’d never expected. “If I ever was held, it was by my parents, or my grandmother, but never by anyone else.” He nodded in the darkness, and then realized she couldn’t see it.

“I understand, let me know if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” She gave a slight soft snicker.

“I highly doubt that you will be what unnerves me tonight Cullen. Get some sleep.” He waited until her breathing was soft and even before he even considered drifting off. Just as he was getting close to the point of completely passing out, she moaned in her sleep, rolled onto her side and clutched at her pillow like it was a lifeline. He swept in behind her and held her close to him.

“It’s alright Fáelán, you’re safe, I promise. I promised to keep you safe and I will.” He didn’t know if she heard him, but found that she calmed down enough that her breathing became even again. Certain that she would wake him up if anything became too much, he quickly passed out.

 

The nightmares weren’t as terrible as what she’d been facing the past few nights. There were still corpses that would come alive, the people of the Inquisition with eyes glowing red as they spit up blood, things that chased her that she knew she couldn’t fight, and the monster she’d seen at Haven sneering down at her while it ordered it’s dragon to murder her companions in front of her. There was a pervasive sense of dread that threaded its way through the night. She slept, but perhaps only because of the fact she was too tired to do anything else.

He awoke first. It was a slow thing. The light was shining in threw the impromptu skylight the Inquisitor had made when she’d fallen through the roof that night. He felt wrapped in a blanket of warmth, and that usually meant a good day. He smiled as he grew more aware of his surroundings. It was nice to wake up slow, warm, and without a sense that he was late.

Something was tickling his nose. He wasn’t sure what it was, but when he breathed in, he caught the scent of herbs, metal and something floral. There was also the slightly bitter underlying coppery tang of old blood. The fragrance was… not something he associated with his bed, or sleep for that matter. Cautiously, he opened one eye.

The sight that met his gaze took a few seconds to really be realized by his mind. He saw scarred pale skin, pointed ears, and white hair that fanned out across his other pillow. He realized that the reason he was so warm was because she was pressed up against his chest. He blinked as the night before came flying back across his memory.

_Maker._ The _Inquisitor_ was in his _bed_. He resisted the urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t having one hell of an excellent dream. He pulled his arm out from under his pillow to prop up his head as he observed her. Her nose had bled during the night, which explained the scent of blood. He added washing his pillow to the list of things that he needed to do today, but the sense of urgency that flared disappeared as he continued to examine her.

She had a few nice sized scars down her back, amid the partially healed wounds that dotted her skin as well. He noted two equally spaced wounds just under her shoulder blades that were almost healed, probably from an assassin’s blade he thought. He wanted to trace the scars he could see on her back, the ones that cut between the well-defined muscles under her skin, but didn’t wish to wake her. He frowned as something else caught his eye.

The designs on her arms that had reminded her of the tattoos on her face were _glowing_. He frowned at the lines lit in a faint silver-green across her arms. He was seeing that right? It wasn’t a trick of the light? Cullen shook his head and added it to the list of oddities that he associated with their leader.

Despite the odd glowing lines on her arms, he was still very caught up in the fact that there was a lady in his bed, and not just any lady, but the one who’d been in the dreams and fantasies he’d been ignoring for so long. His eyes drifted down her body, admiring the muscled figure that lay in his bed. Without her armour she seemed smaller but no less imposing. His eyes lingered on her wrapped chest before they traveled down her torso to her hips and her legs. His mind drifted to what her thin calves might feel like wrapped around the small of his back, or what her hips felt like under his touch, whether they would bruise if he held them too tightly. He realized that his hand was resting on her hip and some part of his mind whispered that he could find out if he wanted too. He felt the blush begin to creep over his cheeks as he gulped. His smalls suddenly felt incredibly tight against her, and he felt the need to try to get away before she awoke and became uncomfortable.

It took significant willpower, but he did manage to get himself out of bed without disturbing her. He ignored the ache between his legs as he washed, groomed himself and then dressed. He even made sure she was covered in the blankets before making his way down the ladder and to his office. He managed to find himself and his unexpected guest some breakfast, (he left hers on a covered dish by the bed, with a note that she should probably clean her face of the blood.) before he started on his hefty stack of reports.

Cullen went about his morning as he usually did, throwing himself headfirst into the work on his desk. His mind was only half aware of what he was trying to focus on because it kept drifting back upstairs to the sleeping female in his bed. His scouts and those who reported to him brushed off his half attention as an off day, they had no idea where their commander's mind really was at the moment. They did notice the slightly red cheeks however, and wondered if the commander was flushing for any particular reason.

 

 

It was around mid morning and Cullen's office was suddenly clear of others. His eyes stared down at the reports on his desk, scanning them and cataloguing the information as he read. A report from Rylen about the state of the Western Approach, Leliana had sent over some information about the movement of the Empress's troupes against her cousin Gaspard in the Exalted Plains, and one of his messengers had yet to come back with information from Bonny Sims about her ability to get in the iron they needed for Harrit or not. He ran a hand threw his hair as he exhaled threw his nose. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock on his office door. His eyebrow rose as the door swung open to reveal Varric as he strode through the entrance.

"Hello Curly."

"Varric." Cullen nodded, straightening up. "What can I do for you?"

"Ser Morris sent me to find you, he has something that requires your attention." Cullen frowned at the dwarf.

"I send a messenger to speak to him, why hasn't my messenger appeared yet?"

"He got detained by the surgeon, and she threatened to bleed him with leaches if he didn't continue to offer her his help." Cullen stared at the dwarf for a moment, trying to see if he was joking. When Varric continued to hold his gaze, Cullen straightened up.

"You're serious aren't you?" he asked. Varric nodded.

"Your messenger requested I inform you of his whereabouts for fear of being seen as having left his post. He also requested a tactical escape." Cullen came around the front of his desk, shaking his head as he went.

"I'll deal with this then. Thank you for letting me know."

"No problem Curly." Varric replied as the Commander took off down the stairs. Varric paused for a moment before he rapped twice on the door. He looked up in time to see a shadow come sliding down the ladder before falling into a roll and appearing at his side. "Well well, Fáelán. Didn't expect to see you here." He barely hid the giggle behind his hand. Violet eyes glared at him intensely, but the dwarf ignored the powerful gaze.

"How did you know?" she asked softly.

"I had help." Varric replied, gesturing to his side. Smoke appeared out of nowhere as a Cole appeared beside him. Fáelán's eyebrow rose under her hood as she fixed the spirit boy with the same questioning look. Cole held her gaze blankly, and shrugged.

"You needed help, so I brought some." He held out his hand, revealing a smoke bomb on his palm. "This will help too."

A minute later, smoke exploded on the entrance of the tower and three figures flew away in separate directions made invisible by the rolling dust.

 

 

 

A new batch of refugees hit Skyhold a few days later. Skyhold had absorbed refugees before, it was not something they were unused too. What made this group different were the Chantry sisters who were in charge of a small host of orphans. Fáelán braced herself over the dusty stone of the parapet, watching the shuffling of the weary travellers into the main courtyard of Skyhold. The children were looking around with wide eyed interest at the bustle and movement around them. Her expression did not change at all as she watched Josephine emerge from the main hall and hurry over with her board and candle. The diplomat was not normally one to betray her emotions on her face, but the elf’s keen gaze picked up the slight furrow to her brow and her controlled gestures with her pen. It was enough to tell the Inquisitor that this group of refugees was not exactly what had been expected.

The Commander’s tower door slammed as Fáelán turned to watch Cullen march quickly down the stairs. He met with the quartermaster, Josephine and Mother Giselle in the courtyard. They moved away from the small crowd assembled in the courtyard, but not far enough away that raised voices could not be heard. Her ears flicked down to catch the argument as it floated up on an errant breeze.

“-Really not the best idea Mother Giselle, it might have been more prudent to have warned us before they came all the way up here.” The chastising voice was Josephine, only she could sound so diplomatic while being faced with something she wasn’t prepared for.

“I did not have a chance, and they had no place to go.” Giselle’s voice was level.

“We’re a military fortress! We don’t have the space to house a bunch of refugees!” Protesting that could only have been Cullen.

“Skyhold has not been repaired enough to safely house all the pilgrims we are getting by the day.” That would be the quartermaster.

“The sisters came to find me; they hoped that I would be able to help.” Giselle answered again.

“And can you?!” Cullen exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“I do not know.”

“We are not equipped for mass amounts of refugees at the moment, neither housing them, nor feeding them.”

“You wouldn’t send them back into the mountains, not after they had come all this way?!” The Chantry Mother raised her voice for the first time since they’d began the discussion, but even then it was hushed. Fáelán watched as the few Chantry sisters in the crowd began to shuffle in discomfort. They were eavesdropping as hard as they could and didn’t appreciate what they were hearing. The children quickly picked up on their distress and mimicked it. Fáelán grimaced slightly before turning and taking the stairs two at a time. Hitting the last landing, she slowed her step and listened in to the conversation, her feet making nary a sound as she approached. They didn’t notice the elf as she approached, and she was privately reminded of a different argument that she’d observed, but that one had been in the snow, and she hadn’t been able to stop it then.

“No one shall be at Skyhold without contributing, but no one in such desperate need shall be turned away from this place so long as they are able to contribute.” Her voice was low and firm as it cut through the assembled and their arguing. The small ring of people broke open to stare at her. She gave them a meaningful look as she turned to address the gathering that for the most part looked up at her, their eyes wide and staring, betraying the fear that they felt. The Chantry sisters had an added emotion of horror to their expressions, no doubt due to the rumours that the Chantry in Val Royeaux had spread of her. She ignored it, instead focusing on the children she saw. They were dirty, starved. Some of them were skin and bones, their faces so gaunt they looked like the corpses that arose from the bogs in the Fallow Mire, or the dead she’d seen in Crestwood. But those creatures had no eyes to them. The eyes she saw staring back at her were hard and determined. They were eyes that had seen much for the ages of their owners.

“No one at Skyhold lives here freely. The Inquisition has a job to do, and we do not have the coin to be handing it out to everyone who needs it.” She began. She addressed the children as if they were part of her clan. “Instead of coin, I offer a bargain. The Inquisition has purpose, but we don’t have anyone to remind us why we’re fighting. We have soldiers, we have spies, we have ambassadors, but we do not have people enough to help them.” Behind her, Josephine and Cullen shared a mild glance. “I offer you a place to stay, food each day, as much safety as the rest of us have. In return, I want your skills, I want your knowledge, I want your help, and I want you to learn and grow.” Mother Giselle’s jaw dropped, Josephine’s eyebrows twitched as if she were stopping them from rising, and Cullen’s jaw grew taut as he clenched it shut. Fáelán sought out each of her audience’s eyes, assessing the reactions in their faces and the way their bodies betrayed what they were thinking. “This won’t be easy, but it’s better than being in an orphanage or a refugee camp somewhere.”

“Inquisitor? Could I have a word?” squeaked the quartermaster from behind her. Fáelán gestured a no as she surveyed the crowd of children.

“How long would you want us?” a voice from her audience called.

“For as long as the war goes. As soon as the land is safe, if you wish, you may leave.” She responded.

“To go where? Home is been burned!” a boy pipped up out of the small crowd. Fáelán lifted a shoulder in reply.

“Then stay until you are old enough to go out on your own.” Fáelán responded.

“What if we don’t like it here?” The voice this time came from a dirty face that belonged to a girl.

“Then I will make sure you are escorted to a refugee camp elsewhere.”

“You said you wanted us to learn, learn what?”

“Things that will make sure you’re useful and things that you can use later.”

“Like what?”

“I would have you all learn your letters, and numbers, and how to read if you don’t already know. There would be weapons training, after that, you will learn how to do things we need done. We need farmers, hunters, builders, and more. Some of you know the basics already. If you live here, you would learn more.”

“You would make them all slaves to the cause!” yelled a voice. Fáelán focused on the speaker with hawk like accuracy. One of the Chantry sisters had spoken, or more appropriately, howled, and she was looking quite chastised as the rest of those assembled were turning to stare at her.

“There are no slaves here, nor shall there ever be.” Her reply came swiftly, even and level. “Every child in my clan worked, learned and played. For every bit of work they do, they shall be paid a wage. To be saved or spent as they see fit. As well as the education, food and lodgings with the Inquisition, and wage they shall receive, they shall be treated as fairly as those who join who are of age. No one here is bound to the Inquisition, and truthfully, the decision is up to them, Mistress, not you.” Fáelán turned her attention back to the children. “There will be a caravan leaving in a few days for the nearest city. Anyone who does not wish agree to those terms will be leaving with it. Until then, _dareth shiral._ “ She bowed to her audience before giving the 4 adults who’d witnessed the exchange a pointed look. They followed her up onto the ramparts and into the nearest enclosed space, which happened to be the tower across from Cullen’s office, which Fáelán was grateful for. As soon as the door shut, she faced them. Anticipating the beginning of another argument, she held up her hand and effectively stalled any argument for a moment.

“What needs to be done to make this work?”  They looked at each other before relaying the information she needed to know. The quartermaster told her of the lack of area for them to live at the moment, but conceded that extra hands would be of use in rebuilding, and stocking the castle. Josephine suggested that training staff who wished to help would probably be cheaper in the long run than hiring staff that needed to be retrained anyway. Mother Giselle pointed out that the children would need supervision, teachers and people they trusted to make certain they weren’t being worked too hard.  Fáelán nodded and asked how all of the potential issues could be remedied. She nodded in approval as each party gave her strategies to handle their new selection of guests. Depending on how many stayed, it could be very good for the Inquisition, but Fáelán was thinking less of how it would benefit the Inquisition and instead was inwardly pleased at the idea of one less child in any of the badly kept refugee camps that were appearing out of nowhere everywhere she went.

As Josephine was commenting on something to do with how to make certain to keep everyone in Skyhold happy with the newest potential additions to the Inquisition, Fáelán realized that there was one voice missing from the conversation and cast a sidelong glance at the commander. His jaw was tense, and she could see the cords protruding in his neck. Inwardly she sighed; she knew that there would most certainly be some opposition, but she had hoped that it wouldn’t be so obvious so early.

“Other than the adjustment period this will require for us all, I think that this will be not nearly as difficult as it was initially presented Inquisitor.” Fáelán nodded almost imperceptivity.

“Excellent. Give them a few days, and we’ll gather them here again to decide how many stay and go.”

“I will see what these sisters wish to transpire Inquisitor, and see what I can do to make this transition easier.” Giselle finished. Fáelán’s nod was deeper this time, and those assembled knew her gestures enough to know a dismissal when they say it.

Those assembled left the dismembered room in different directions. Giselle took the quartermaster as they went to gather the children and begin sorting them out, Josephine went off to draw up a contract or several and Cullen barked orders at everyone in his office as soon as he entered the room. They scattered like fallen leaves as he sunk into his chair and reached for the mug of water that he always kept there. The headache that had been dragging on him didn’t abate as cold water flowed down his throat. He growled as he massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pressure that was bearing down on that area.

Fáelán watched the refugee band from the ramparts off to the side where she wasn’t so easily spotted. This could either end well, or badly. Only time would tell which it was.


	12. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter that took me 2 years to do. Playing DAI again, so this helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains music that I didn't write. The song is called Sleepsong, by Secret Garden. I wanted a lullaby and couldnt think of one.  
> This concept is borrowed from "October and April" by Roarkshop, an excellent FenrisxFem Hawke fic if you're looking.  
> Anyway, back to writing and studies.. yay chem?

Varric went looking for her the next night after the orphans had arrived with their skittish chantry sister guardians.

She’d essentially disappeared, but that was not unusual for her. Disappearing in plain sight was a habit of hers, and Dorian owed him money now, because Dorian had sworn up and down that she’d probably take care of those young ones now that they had sort of “joined up’. To her credit, it had appeared that she'd done that, but from the sidelines.

Josephine and she had drawn up plans and ideas, she'd gotten together with Bull and Blackwall about a tiny militia and the training required to set up the little ones. She’d asked Cullen if he would add some of the better ones to weapons training with his soldiers when they got good enough, and surprisingly, some of them were already. She'd started working with Morris, and started arranging requisitions for what they would need. All told she was being a damn good leader, better than Varric had ever figured he'd see from the Dalish.

But she’d up and vanished again, just as the orphans were deciding how they were going to react to their options. Varric didn't rule out the fact that Vivienne, Cassandra and Dorian had scared her. They had ganged up on her, telling her it was a bad decision and that she should unmake the deal shed struck.

She again surprised him by telling apparently them that her word was her bond, shed made a deal and she would not break it. Apparently she lived and died by her word, and while it may have no place in Orlais, the clan she was from had the same idea. The character required to go against the seeker, the Iron lady and the Tevinter mage was rather spectacular if Varric was honest with himself, but then again, that was why they had decided she be inquisitor wasn’t it? She had the will to drive her ethics into the center of politics and wars, the one who took care of the small people, which is how they found themselves in this situation.

He went looking for her, one night after supper when she had again seemed to miss the meal. He knew she wouldn’t be in anywhere easily found, or at least, not where people would expect her. The training grounds were empty, the library was quiet, and she wasn’t talking to anyone of their odd band of people. By the time Varric found himself at the Herald’s Rest, he almost thought she might be hiding.

Climbing to the top of the damaged tower room above the tavern they called their own, he found her. Apparently she wasn't really “hiding”. Just, wait what was she doing?

Varric found her in that derelict tower room, stacking bricks from the shattered walls on a board on wheels?  
He stood in the doorway as she finished with the bricks, dusted her hands and began cleaning up the rest of the room, stripping the derelict bed, pulling pieces of wood apart and stacking them neatly, emptying the drawers of various cabinetries left in the room and replacing them. He stood by the door and watched, trying to figure out exactly what she was doing.  
  
“Yes Varric?” She asked finally, her back still towards him as she continued cleaning and righting the room.  
  
“What are you doing?” He asked confused.  
  
“If this is my fortress, it shall be clean. If these can be used to fix holes, or rebuild elsewhere? It shall happen.”  
  
“So you're… fixing abandoned rooms?”  
  
“Why not? All this stuff can be used elsewhere, a new roof isn't so difficult once the beams are set, fuel keeps us warm in this drafty place in the mountains, and storage is never something to go to waste.”  
  
“I think Bull sleeps here…” Varric offered. Her response was a shrug as she continued with her work.  
  
“If Bull sleeps here, then doubtless he’ll be warmer when the walls are patched.” She responded quietly, continuing to stack wood pieces along the wall and out of the way. She grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and went to work, sweeping up the dust and debris from what she’s cleaned up. Varric watched her as she went about her work. He watched her get along one wall before he sighed, leaning on the doorjam.  
  
“So are you alright? Cassandra and the mages gave you quite a work over, didn't they?” He asked. Her response was a non committal shrug. The dwarf rolled his eyes and picked up the lead to one of the rolling carts stacked with stone. He pulled it over to the opposite door that lead onto the battlements and heaved the first set of wheels over the door board. He stopped for a second, surprised at how heavy it was. He didn't expect the stones to be so damned heavy. For the few that were stacked on it, it did not appear as heavy as it was. He stopped for a moment, to catch his breath and felt the back of the cart move towards him. Turning, he saw her watching him steadily, not applying further pressure to the back of the cart than it was clear he was ready for. He sucked in a few more breaths before giving her the nod, and together they pushed the cart over the threshold.

She helped him maneuver it out of the way of the door before pulling another cart out to the threshold so they could repeat the exercise.

With the two carts out of the way, he came back inside the room, only to be handed a mug of ale. He accepted it gladly, noticing a small pitcher and a mug out of the way of the dust and commotion.

She leaned against the wall herself, and accepted the mug from him when he handed it back.

“I did not realize that I would incur such wrath for doing what I thought was right.” She began, a few moments after the silence had started to weigh on their shoulders.

“I don't think they really disbelieve you. Just that children are not the mages or Cassandra's strong suit.”

“Obviously” she agreed with a nod. She took another sip before continuing. “What are your thoughts?” Varric chuckled in response.

“Your fishing for me to tell you did the right thing, that Cassandra, Dorian and Vivienne aren’t child people and that they just don't like kids, and that you offered children a future they might never have had in a refugee camp.” He said over his mug before tipping the rest of the cool liquid down his throat. He found her staring at him as he wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. Her unblinking gaze would have been unnerving if he didn't catch the slight amount of surprise in the twitch of her brow. He chuckled.  
“You don't need me to tell you your initial idea was right, or that this idea might go a little ary if it doesn’t get planned well.”

She raised a cup in response, an answer he interpreted as her agreement. Her raised eyebrow was a quiet nudge for him to finish his thought. “But you have Josephine to help you plan, and once they get settled, they should be good.” Her lips twisted at his words and she set the cup back on the small dresser beside the pitcher.

  
“It'll be alright Fáelán.” He paused, listening as a guard called the late night watch. “But even dwarves need sleep, even if roguish elves do not. Thanks for the ale.” He said, saluting her with his cup before setting it down on the dresser and walking out the door.  
  
Fáelán looked around the room before blowing out the candles she had in the candelabra and closing the door behind her. She still had some reports to do before the morning came.

The door swung closed behind her, making her wince at how loud it was. Her steps made no sound as she trekked down the stone stairs and across the main courtyard to where the kitchen entrance was. It was quieter than the main entrance and she figured she might as well grab a snack to keep her going for the night. The night was quiet except for a sound that she couldn't put her finger on. It sounded like… crying?

Fáelán came around the curve of the rotunda’s tower to see pallets with small bodies on them. Most of them were still, except for a small figure at the back that shook and trembled, sounding like it was trying so hard not to make noise, yet to her sensitive ears, failing none the less.

She approached slowly, looking around at the other pallets and the chantry sisters who were supposed to be looking after their charges and failing… because they were asleep. Probably all exhausted from trying to settle 30 or so young ones to sleep.

Fáelán approached the shivering bundle, letting her feet kick a few stones so that the figure would know she was coming.

The shivering didn't stop as she knelt beside them, but the whimpering did. She spoke softly to the blanket clad figure, letting them know she was here.  
  
“Are you alright?”  She asked quietly.  
  
“‘M fine!” Growled the voice that was husky with unshed tears, perhaps even with shed tears.

“Then why do you cry?” She asked, uncertain if this was the way one normally dealt with grief.

“I'm not crying!” The little one hissed from under the blanket. Fáelán sat cross legged beside the pallet.

“Well, it sounds like you've a stuffy nose young master, may I offer you a handkerchief?” she pulled a spare rag from her pocket and dangled it in front of the hole that the figure was using to breath from, just above their head. A small hand appeared from the hole and grabbed it, pulling it back under the blanket, and she heard them blow hard into it before swallowing another sob. “Keep it.” She said quietly.

“Why are you here?” Asked the figure beneath the blanket.

“Hmm. I will only answer questions if you answer mine, is that fair?” She asked, pausing to wait for a second and an answer. When it didn't come, she continued. “I'll answer first. I live here. Now will you answer one of mine?”  The figure seemed to consider it.

“Maybe.”

“Are you a young master or a young mistress?” There was a pause of a few breaths before the response came.

“I'm a girl.”

“A young mistress then.” She responded. “Your turn.”

“Is it true the inquisitor will make us work until we die?” Fáelán frowned at the question.

“Who gave you that idea? No, she won't. She never would.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the Inquisitor is not cruel like that”.

“How do you know that?” Fáelán paused at the repeated question.

“I know her very well, and I know she would never do that.”  
  
“Oh.” The figure on the pallet responded. They were silent for a few moments. “Don't you have more questions for me?”

“Do you have any siblings?” Fáelán asked. The figure pointed under the blanket at the deep breathing wrapped boy on the pallet next to her. “Your brother?” She asked.

“Meech. He's all I got left after Ma and Pa died.”

“Your doing well at taking care of him.” Fáelán said.

“How do you know that? Who are you anyway?”

“I know because you aren’t crying in front of him. You’re being strong when he needs you to be, even if you’re scared.”

“Someone needs to be strong. He needs to not be afraid. I need to take care of him.”

“Looks like your doing a good job of that. Even as your scared.”  The girl on the pallet shifted a little before Fáelán hears grumbling.  
  
“You didn't answer my other question.”

“You can call me Fae.” Fáelán said, figuring that the other question was who she was.

“Alright..Fae..” the girl said, hesitating as she decided how to phrase her next question. “Do you think the Inquisition is better than wherever they said they'd take us?”

“Yes. I think you'd be safer here than other places.”

“What about all the other things the sisters say about the Inquisitor?”

“Well what do they say?”

“That she secretly eats people, that she's terrifying, that she's going to work us to the bone if we stay, that she's really a demon-”

“Nonsense.” Fáelán replied curtly. “Who’s been filling your head with this?”

“Sister Angie.” The soft reply was almost a whisper, as if the girl was worried the sister would hear her and punish her for even naming her. Fáelán fixed the sleeping sisters with hard eyes before letting out a breath and hiding the anger beneath it.

“The Inquisitor is not anything like that, otherwise the inquisition wouldn’t be the way it is. People would not trust them, and the chantry mother the sisters came to see wouldn't be here.”

“So...you think we should stay?” The girl asked.

“I think you should do what you think is best, but I think the Inquisition takes care of those who work with them, while the refugee camps I have seen try hard, they don't always succeed. I suppose you can always change your mind and leave with Meech later if you don't like it here. I don't think it will be easy here, but no one will be cruel, and no one will harm you.”

“How can you be sure?” Fáelán smiled a wolfish smile that would have scared the girl she was speaking with had she been looking.

“I will make sure.” She said with a growl in her voice. There was a pause from the bundle wrapped in blankets.

“Alright..” The reply was hesitant.

“Hush now little one.” Faelan said calmingly, “You need your rest.”

“But I’m not tired.” Retorted the youngster who was still curled up on the pallet.

“Do you mind if I sing you a lullaby then?” asked Fáelán. The girl was quiet for a moment, before a small voice whispered

“Could you?”

Fáelán smiled at the response.

“Of course.” She thought for a moment, remembering a song her grandmother used to sing to her. She’d translated it into Dalish of course, but when she’d begun to teach her granddaughter common, she’d sung it in common. Clearing her throat, Faelan tried tro remember how it went.

“ _Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby_  
_Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay_  
 _And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow_  
 _Bless you with love for the road that you go”_

She sung quietly, but with enough volume that the small assembly could hear it. It was a sweet song, but difficult for her to sing, as she didn’t have her grandmother’s voice. Hers was rougher, less gentle, but it did what was needed she figured.

 _“May you sail far to the far fields of fortune_  
_With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet_  
 _And may you need never to banish misfortune_  
 _May you find kindness in all that you meet”_

Her voice may not have been loud, but it was enough to echo around the compound enough. Luckily most weren’t around to hear it.

Cullen was finally finished with his reports, and was sick of the headache he’d gained from it all. Shedding his overcoat, he strode outside onto the ramparts hoping that the cool air would help his headache.

His ear caught the sound of soft music that wasn’t normally something he heard from the tavern, and it sounded out of place. Frowning, he followed the sound, quietly as to not disturb the singer.

The ramparts not so far from his office were overhead of where the orphans that they’d brought in slept until they’d managed to find a better spot for them He recognized a white haired figure that was kneeling over one of the pallets on the ground and he shrunk back into the shadow of the tower that cast a dark streak over the land, wanting to not disturb her. _  
_  
“ _May there always be angels to watch over you_  
_To guide you each step of the way_  
 _To guard you and keep you safe from all harm_  
 _Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay...”_

She sang softly, and her voice had this hoarse sweetness to it that he didn’t realize a voice could have. He watched agape as she sat for a moment or two before rising and giving the area a quick sweep with dark eyes, seeking out anyone who might have heard her, and he pressed himself into shadow beside the light of the moon, knowing from experience that most eyes wouldn’t be able to see details in darkness with bright light beside it.

She seemed satisfied as she walked off, and he marveled at her from his shadow cloak beside the tower. She’d been singing one of the youngsters to _sleep_. His mouth still hung open at this realization, though it took him a few moments to figure out _why_.

She was sharp and cold as her blades, difficult to work with, but gentle to those who needed it. Ferociously protecting all those who she felt needed it. He had only ever seen the steel inside of her, very rarely did she ever display softness, or gentleness, and if she did it was quickly covered over by thorns and misdirection.

Cullen stood quietly before walking back to his tower and deciding to call it a night.

Perhaps there was more to this rogue then he was aware of.


	13. Buildup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble on the Western Approach, and Adamant looms, as does the Ball at Halamsharal.   
> Not all is as it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still live, and I am writing at least a little every day. 
> 
> For those who noticed, I have gone back and edited some things. Cerato is now a calico green eyed cat, based off a kitty I lived with most of my year last.   
> Some of the other formatting things have been changed. 
> 
> I'm now out of school and looking for a job.. one of those career things. But I do have some gaming/writing time now, so I'm making use of it.

Mother Giselle caught up to her the next morning.

“Inquisitor, may I borrow your attention about something please?” the Chantry mother asked. The Dalish gave her a slight nod in greeting.

“You have my attention Mother Giselle.”

“First off, I would like to congratulate you on your kindness in offering those children a place with the Inquisition. I did not mean to have them brought here, but my sister’s fear may yet bear fruit for the little ones who have been most damaged by the fighting.” Fáelán bowed slightly in response. “But I was wondering if I might be able to have your assistance in a delicate matter concerning one of your compatriots.” Fáelán frowned at the chantry mother’s phrasing. She was trying to be diplomatic, and Fáelán was immediately on guard.

“Who?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“The Tevinter.” Replied Giselle and Fáelán’s shoulders deflated a little.

“What has Dorian done?” she asked.

“He has done nothing wrong.” The eyebrow went up in reply. Giselle explained the situation, and Fáelán’s brow furrowed despite the eyebrow.

“I’m not tricking my friend into being ambushed by his family.” She replied firmly. Mother Giselle sighed.

“I understand. Perhaps this may convince you.” She replied, handing Fáelán an impeccably neat letter. Fáelán stared at it for a moment as Giselle turned away.

“Mother Giselle,” she called, and the Chantry sister turned back to look at her. “Thank you, for bringing this to my attention.” She replied, and the mother gave her a nod before going about her business.

 

Dorian was in the library, happily reading away, but saw Fáelán approach, her brow furrowed.

“Good afternoon Fáelán. How are you doing this marvelously fine day?” he asked as she stood beside his nook.

“Dorian, I’ve a letter here for you.”

“Oooh, a letter? Is it a naughty letter? Some humorous proposal from an old Antivan dowager?” he asked, sliding a strip down the page and closing his book.

“Not exactly” She paused. “It’s from your father.” He rose, his face too neutral for comfort.

“My father. I see. What does Magister Halward want, pray tell?” he asked.

“A meeting.” She replied quietly.

“Let me see that.” He said, reaching for the letter. Wordlessly, she handed it to him only for him to tear it open. He stood there and scanned it, a thundercloud darkening his brow.

“I know my son”. What my father knows of me could barely fill a thimble. This is so typical!” he cried exasperated. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“Not on my watch.” Her reply was soft. “Who would I kill Venatori with if your father had you kidnapped?”

“That is a good point. I’m far too pretty for a black bag over my head.”

“Could be the Venatori as well. Lure us somewhere remote, plan an ambush...” she trailed off.

“Perhaps” answered Dorian, “Although this does look like my father’s penmanship. Or, could he have joined the Venatori? No, that cant… well, anything is possible.” He was musing now. The thundercloud took over his face in an instant. “We should go meet this so called “family retainer”. If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone. You’re good at that.” She raised an eyebrow at him, but he continued. “If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his “wits end”.” She chuckled slightly at that before she hummed quietly in thought.

“Remind me why the bad blood between you and your family?” she asked lightly. His laughter was a surprise that she frowned at.

“Interesting turn of phrase.” She cocked her head to the right as he continued. “They don’t care for my choices, nor I for theirs.”

“Because you ignored their plan for you and left?”

“That too.” He replied sharply. A light frown wrinkled her brow as she stared at the floor for a moment.

“Dorian, I think you should meet with this retainer, find out what your family wants.” She said slowly, tentatively.

“I didn’t ask what you thought, did I?” his retort was sharp and she recoiled as if she’d been struck, a confused frown on her brow. She took a step back; her head cocked slightly, the confusion and hurt plain on her face.

“That” he began in the same sharp tone. “Was unworthy. I apologize.” The rest of his statement was softer, and she gave him a sideways look. “There’d be no harm in hearing what this man of my father’s has to say. If I don’t like it however, I want to leave.”

It took her a few seconds longer to step back where she had been and nod.

“I would never make you stay if you didn’t wish too Dorian. But you’ve got parents to disapprove of your choices. That’s a resource that you might want to hold onto. At least if you try, then you can say you tried. If it doesn’t work, then that’s all you can do right?”

“I …suppose that is true.” He replied. She nodded to him and crossed the aisle way to the railing that overlooked Solas’s rotunda. He joined her, leaning on his elbows as she did. “I am sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I know. I can only believe that there’s a lot of anger in your past around this.”

“There is.” He responded, and they stood in silence for a moment before she sighed.

“It’s alright Dorian.”

“Can I ask something Fáelán?” Her response was a raised eyebrow, a silent invitation. “You don’t have much for a family do you?” Her eyes closed for a few moments, her face a neutral mask.

“No.” her reply was whisper soft, he had to lean in to hear her. “My parents died when I was a youngster. I was raised by _Maela_ Shamira after that, my grandmother.” She explained, translating the Dalish as she spoke.

“No other family?” Dorian asked. “I thought your clans were supposed to contain a lot of the extended family.”

“Most clans do. If they don’t, we meet up every decade or so for the Arlathvhen.” She shook her head when he began to ask what that was. “My parents didn’t have much for family either. My father had a sister, Keeper Deshana. But she is First of Clan Lavellan, so _Maela_ raised me instead.”

“I’m sorry.” He said. She shrugged.

“Don’t be. Just realize that you can’t always get your parents back when you’ve lost them.” He opened his mouth to respond, but was stopped by her shaking her head. “By the sound of it, your parents are the sort that might be better off being lost, so maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.” He laughed, and she gave him a sideways smirk. They stood in silence for a few minutes longer before she straightened again. “I’ll let you know when we need to head off to the Hinterlands again. We’ll go see your family’s retainer then.”

“Oh, no hurry. If my father has to pay the man to stay, then feel free to take your time in getting down there. I’ve got no hurry to meet this person even if it is to tell my father to go away.” She chuckled at that as she headed off.

 

She was walking passed the tavern when she heard a voice call to her.

“Hey Fáelán!” She looked at the speaker, and made her way over to the grey skinned Qunari.

“Hey Bull.”

“I got something to show you tonight, have you got time?” he asked. She considered a moment before nodding.

“I can make some. What’s up?”

“Meet me back here tonight and I’ll show you.”

“After sunset?”She asked, and he nodded. “I’ll be back then.”

“Good, I look forward to it.”

With that planned, she wandered onto the ramparts and took a walk around the walls. She was pleased to see that in the top of the Herald’s Rest, the room had stayed clean. New bed sheets had been applied to the bed, and the room generally looked cleaner. The bricks that she and Varric had stacked were gone, and it looked like they’d been taken elsewhere to be used in the repair or building of somewhere else. She was thinking of other places she could clean up when she walked through the door that led to Cullen’s office and found him staring down at a box with some items in it.

He heard the door open, and the soft step that precluded the _elvhan’s_ appearance. He straightened up to address her, and her brow furrowed. Something weighed in the air, like a summer storm on a humid day.

“Oh, Milady, good. I was ah, going to come get you.” He said, his words tripping from his lips. She stepped to his desk.

“Well, I’m here now Commander.” She responded lightly, not sure what exactly to say due to their last meeting, but feeling that this was not the time to broach that situation. He cleared his throat before beginning.

“As leader of the Inquisition, you-“ he paused, taking a breath. “There’s something I must tell you.” She nodded at him, but he seemed to need her to speak her thoughts.

“I’m willing to listen, Commander, whatever it is.” Whatever weighed in the air seemed to be weighing on him, and she felt a sudden need to try and alleviate some of the intensity.

“Right. Thank you.” He didn’t seem to have expected that response from her, either that or he was having trouble finding his words. She felt it was probably the latter, but given that it was Cullen, she had no idea if she was right. He turned back to the box on his desk. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those who are cut off suffer; some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of Lyrium for the Templars here, but I… No longer take it.” He finished.

“You stopped?” she asked, taking a few steps towards the desk.

“When I joined the Inquisition, it’s been months now.”

This explained his sickness in Haven; this explained his symptoms and his issues and everything that Cassandra hadn’t told her when he’d collapsed on her that night.

“May I ask..” she began. “Is this the reason that you collapsed that night in Haven?”

“I, err….Yes. I was suffering from withdrawal at the time and the symptoms crept up on me while I was … visiting you that evening.” She’d appeared at his side, looking like she wanted to touch him for a moment before drawing herself back.

“Can this kill you?” she asked softly.

“It hasn’t yet.” He replied, staring down at the box, the crux of the whole issue. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” He straightened off the table to face her, suddenly aware of her close proximity. She was around the desk, barely two hands length away from him. Her eyes were more open than they usually were. They were normally narrowed as she observed everything around her, but he noticed that she was taking him in entirely, even if her gaze was holding his as steady as she’d ever been. She didn’t remind him of an owl at the moment, but someone who was putting pieces together and wanting more information.

He suddenly didn’t mind the scrutiny, even if it was as intense as her gaze always was, it didn’t feel as piercing.

“I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve asked Cassandra to … watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.” He held her eyes as her gaze softened.

“Are you in pain?”

“I can endure it.” She looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at him and nodding.

“Thank you for telling me Cullen, I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you Fáelán. The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. If anything happens, I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.”

“I respect Cassandra’s judgment, but I also respect yours, and I think that you’ll be able to beat this.” She said softly.

“Thank you.” He repeated, holding her gaze for a moment before remembering the pile of work he had yet to do. He closed the box with a snap and replaced it back on the bookshelf behind him. When he returned to his desk, he found her on the other side of it again, but still wearing that expression of softness. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“That night, when Cassandra informed me that you were suffering from withdrawal of a sort, she didn’t say what it was from, but I could sense that whatever it was intense. I thought you were brave; to try and get yourself off of whatever it was that was causing you such pain. Knowing that it’s Lyrium, I feel no less convinced of your courage.” She said, before bowing slightly. “You have my support Commander.” She finished, leaving the room silently.

Cullen was somewhat shocked; this was not the response he had been expecting. All told, he thought it was better than any alternative. Brave was not exactly something he considered himself, but the fact she thought he was brave was, well. Something he’d consider at a later date, as the headaches were starting to work their way into his skull again.

 

Bull met her later and showed her that she could basically walk unrecognized in and amongst the troops who’d signed up for the Inquisition. Something she found useful, but found their sentiments mildly alarming. The idea that she was “saving the world”, was not exactly one she’d considered entirely, but she supposed that from the outside looking in, that that was exactly what they were doing.

She left Bull with a thankyou, having been thoroughly illuminated.

 

A few days later, Varric, Blackwall and Dorian were back in Crestwood, wandering behind a shadowed rogue who scouted a route ahead.

"I don't understand this. Why are we back here?" Dorian asked.

"Because Hawke sent me a letter asking if we were ever going to meet her Warden ally." Varric replied calmly.

"So? Isn't there a ball to get ready for?"

"Yes, but Hawke's message struck a chord that usually means trouble that should probably be looked into now."

"But why can't it wait till after the ball?"

"What's wrong Sparkler, you want your fancy Orlesian wines sooner rather than later?"

"I'm a little more worried that our dearest Inquisitor will not know her steps to the Allemande and make a horrible mess in the Orlesian court. For the record, I prefer Antivan Wine to Orlesian. It has a note of spice I prefer to the sweeter tastes of the Orleasian wines." Varric's response was to roll his eyes.

"Whatever you say Sparkler."

"I don't understand why it is that _you_ have to come along." Dorian gestured to Blackwall. Varric rolled his eyes again, before turning and giving the now arguing champion and mage a look that spoke volumes about what he was thinking.

"Ahem." A voice that was not nearly so familiar cut threw their bickering. "Should you wish to argue, please do it elsewhere. Or better yet, stay outside while you do so." They both turned to see the less than pleased speaker. Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall was leaning against the cave entrance and giving them a displeased look. The two quieted down before following the dwarf and the Champion into the cave. The cloaked elf had already gone ahead.

Loghain Mac Tir had aged since his coup of Ferelden. Now a Senior Grey Warden, and a hunted one at that, he was extremely careful about who he let near him, which the _elvhan_ learned to her detriment when a cold blade pressed against her throat.

His news made the company shudder as he informed them of the mysterious "Calling" that all the Wardens of Orlais were hearing, and the terrible choice that the Warden Commander believed she had to make.

"A blood magic ritual using the Wardens?" asked Hawke. The rogue's icy blue eyes had grown sharper as they listened to Loghain.

"It would seem so, yes."

"You've got to be kidding me." Varric groaned, covering his eyes with a hand. Loghain only shook his head.

"Didn't they learn from Kirkwall? Blood magic does nothing but bring more problems!" Hawke shouted.

"Apparently not." Loghain replied solemnly.

"Let's go." The command was issued sharply and made those assembled turn to the speaker. The elf, who had pulled down her mask and hood to meet the famed Warden, had replaced them. Her eyes were sharp, burning like bright coals in the darkness of the cave. The darkness of her eyes made the even paler shade of her skin more apparent. Loghain nodded, gathering his few belongings into a rucksack before giving the cavern a swift once over to make certain he'd gathered everything. He led the way out, Hawke followed, and the Inquisitor brought up the rear.

Dorian slowed slightly to match the step of the elf.

"You're just going to take off to the Western Approach?" The elf nodded in reply, her gaze fixed ahead on the figures ahead of them.

"What about the ball?"

"The ball is in four months, Dorian. I do not see why you are so worried about it."

"I am not worried about it for my sake, but more so that the bumpkins I'm around know which fork to use during supper." Fáelán gave the ceiling a withering glance and ignored the mage's attempt at humour. Any further attempts Dorian made to sway her mind about the situation were lost under the punishing pace that the Champion and the Warden kept, that the rest of the company had to work to match.

Their horses were stabled at the North Camp, and Fáelán wheeled her hart around before pointing it west.

"I would assume your officers know what you're up too?" Dorian drawled as he mounted his gelding.

"Leliana will know soon."

"You sent off a crow?" Fáelán's nod was the only response.

"Ready when you are Milady." Blackwall sat at attention on his horse, waiting for her signal. Varric sat astride his mount beside him.

"How long will this take us again?"

"As long as it does." The retort came sharply. "Ride."

 

It took them a week and a half.

Fáelán set a punishing pace, but had spoken to the right Nightingale prior to their departure from Crestwood. Leliana's people had fresh mounts for the 6 riders at checkpoints along their route, and Fáelán kept in contact with her advisors threw messages left in her saddlebag and threw reports given over by Leliana's agents. They knew where the company was going, but not why. None of the riders bothered to tell the agents who handed over fresh mounts, and supplies, or those that Fáelán wrote snippets of reports back too. They ignored the questioning eyes of Leliana’s people and kept riding.

The Western Approach appeared hot and sandy, and the riders left their horses at the foreword camp, in the care of the incredible Lace Harding before starting towards the ritual tower that Loghain had marked on their map. The damn place wound everywhere.

They encountered quillbacks and phoenixes, which Fáelán had been looking forward to seeing, but her single-minded determination made taking in the sights less than a priority.

One could tell that the trip had been hard, and that they were more worried than they let on. Loghain had gone silent soon after leaving his cavern. Hawke had at first traded quips with Varric, but both of them had gone silent. Fáelán was silent throughout most of their trip, but had taken to playing with her assassins' blade. It made them nervous to begin with, but it soon became apparent that Fáelán could toss the blade in her sleep without dropping it, and while it made her companions wary, they accepted it. They all had different ways of dealing with the worry.

The trip did not seem to get easier as they drew closer to the dark stone tower in the midst of barren rock and sand. Blackwall and Dorian didn't even have the heart to argue. They were worn out and on edge. The idea of Blood magic having impressed upon them all a certain degree of urgency, almost bordering on panic. The three leaders appeared to keep calm. But calm is easy to pretend when you have nothing to say. Varric, Blackwall and Dorian shared a glance when Fáelán's knife was sheathed and did not reappear. They had grown so used to their frigid Inquisitor that when she'd displayed a rare bit of a twitch it was alarming. What was almost more alarming was the sudden loss of behaviour.

To keep them from losing their edge, and to wear off some of the frenetic energy that they had coiled under their skin, Fáelán decided that the keep in the Western Approach would be a good place of operations to have in case they needed it. It was not a difficult assault, and the Venatori who manned it were no match for the company that was assaulting it. Fáelán sent off a bird to Skyhold informing them of the keep they’d claimed and now had at their disposal before riding for the spot that Loghain had marked on the map.

The dark tower in the sand held nothing but few answers and arguments. Blood magic, demons and a magister from Tevinter, who was almost certainly a Venetori agent were not enough to satisfy those who had been riding cross country to discover what they could. Hawke and Loghain left to scout out a fortress that looked promising; the rest gathered their mounts and began riding for Skyhold.

The pace that they'd kept as they rode to the sandy dunes did not change much as they rode east towards the fortress they called home. It was easier to think of what awaited them then too take a slower pace.

They still had sand in their leathers and were at the point where a decent bath sounded exceptional. Fáelán left her companions to it while she summoned her advisors to brief them, and the 3 of them found rest without a question.

 

To her advisors, she gave all the details she could, that she hadn’t included already in the missives that had been delivered by raven. They weren’t overly shocked, but surprised. They knew that Corephyus was planning for a demon army, and with the Wardens under his spell it was easy to think that one might be connected, but they didn’t know to what extent and how it would look. This gave them the answers, and it was not the answers that they wanted.

“We should assault Adamant Fortress as soon as we can.” Stated Cullen, as he found it on the map and placed a small tower over top of it, indicating that it was one of the next places that required their attention.

“What about the ball?” asked Josephine, gesturing with her pen. “We cannot afford to be unable to attend if we wish to save the Empress.”

“Jose, the ball is 4 months away. If we move fast, we can get there and back with time to spare.” Leliana reported, tracing the route that their troops would have to travel. Josephine scratched a few notes into her tablet of paper before looking at the map again. Fáelán had pulled back her hood and mask and was taking advantage of water in her mug, tipping it back down her throat as she watched the map and the discussion with a sideways look.

“That fortress will be a tough nut to crack. We’ll need siege equipment to make sure we can get inside. I won’t have our men throwing themselves on a wall they cannot breech.” Cullen stated, still studying all of the landmarks noted on the map.

“I have a contact in Jader who might be happy to lend us some siege towers.” Josephine offered amid the scratching of her pen.

“We took Griffon Wing before we went to see about this plot, use it as the base of operation for the forward troops until we can move the main army out there.” Fáelán offered quietly, her mug making a light tap as she replaced it on the table. Her eyes found Cullen’s across the table. “How many squadrons are ready and armed?”

“I believe five or so, but I’m not entirely certain offhand. There are more than a few squadrons that are battle ready that are lacking some armaments but are otherwise trained and ready to serve.”

“Let’s begin by getting those who are ready to go, marching. Leliana, you said that your agents were headed there by horseback, can they make the fortress ready for troops along with whatever you have them doing?”

“Her agents also include a few good men that I had decided should be in command of Griffon Wing.” Cullen interrupted before Leliana could answer. Fáelán nodded.

“Very well, your captain can lead the squadrons that are ready once they arrive.” Fáelán nodded, her eyes meeting Leliana’s with a slight nod.

“I will send orders as soon as this meeting ends.” She nodded to her commander almost absentmindedly; her eyes were studying the war table and all of the missions that they had yet to accomplish. Leliana handed her a stack of reports from their last set of missions for when she had time. Her response was a short nod before she dove into questions about some of the missions they had left. She delegated each of them something to accomplish before nodding and straightening up from the map.

“How soon can your reserve squadrons be ready to march Cullen?”

“A day at most.” He responded. She nodded once as she considered the map again.

“Would a week be sufficient to arm and armour the remainder? Will this company be enough to take Adamant?”

“Of course Inquisitor.” The title was spoken out of habit rather than consideration, but he didn’t miss the twitch of her hand, and the tightening of her fist. Internally, he winced. He had forgotten her dislike of the title, but was so used to referring to her as such that he’d spoken more out of reflex than out of thought. Her tone didn’t change however as she addressed them.

“Very well. Cullen’s forward army will go ahead to meet your agents at Griffon Wing. Barring other delays, the Inquisition will be marching for Adamant fortress one week from today.” She looked each of her advisors in the eye, seeking any issue that they might have. When she found none, she looked at her pile of reports before looking up again at the trio across the table from her. “Was there anything else?” Josephine pulled a letter out from under her tablet of paper.

“A letter came from your Keeper, milady. I didn’t open it.”

“Madam Vivienne has requested that you meet her for supper once you’ve managed to bathe in regards to the outfit to be worn to the ball. I confess that if we plan on having this attack happen, then we should probably have your outfit planned before you go off to battle again.” Leliana informed her while hiding a grin. Fáelán hid a suffering sigh as she accepted the letter with a nod.

“Very well” she replied with the barest trace of a sigh. “I will leave you all to your work.” She scooped up the reports and the letter and began striding to the door.

“Oh, Fáelán?” Josephine called. The _elvhan’s_ steps stopped and her head cocked back slightly over her shoulder to indicate she was listening. “The orphan company… They stayed.” The Dalish nodded again and continued out the door, giving the hallway beyond it a grin that vanished before she hit her room.

‡

Fáelán sat down at the small table that Vivienne had for her use on her mezzanine at the mage’s gesture. Running through the pleasantries; Vivienne abruptly brought their attention to what she really had in mind and gestured to a waiting lady who approached them.

“Darling, this is Madame Armoire. She has designed the ...outfits that the inquisition is to wear for the Empress’s Masquerade.” A fashionably dressed lady came forward and curtsied. She’d been loitering a short distance away, clutching a leather bound folder.

“It is an honor, your Worship.” She said in heavily accented common. She laid the folder she held clutched to her ample bosom on the table and pulled out the sketches of the uniforms she’d designed for all of the members of the Inquisition. Fáelán hadn’t missed the slight pause that Vivienne had inputted in her description of the designs.

Lying before her were sketches of each of the members of the Inquisition in a red military inspired coat and sash. Fáelán brushed them gently with her fingertips, moving the sheets above to see the drawn depictions of her companions and advisors.

“I thought that the Inquisition would want to present a unified front against the world. This is a uniform for each of the members of the Inquisitor’s Guard, and easily recognizable as the Inquisition at the ball.” The masked lady sniffed from a perfumed handkerchief that she stuffed back into her side purse.

“I’ve not yet seen what you propose I should wear.” Fáelán remarked quietly.

“Oh, but Milady! You will be glorious!” Armoire chirped as she reached into her folder again and brought out another sketch, setting it with ceremony before the Dalish. Fáelán stared at it.

It didn’t even _look_ like her. She had been drawn as if she were a shemlen for one, robed in white and gold, a dress that was probably fashionable to no end in the capital of Orlais, but was absolutely useless for anything she would actually be doing. Very obvious down her chest was the symbol of the Inquisition, emblazoned in red over a gold overdress and a white under dress. As Fáelán stared, she could hear Armoire speaking to Vivienne over her shoulder about how she wanted to do the bodice and skirt in taffeta. Closing her eyes for a moment, Fáelán inhaled deeply, and held her angry words before sneaking a look at Vivienne. The lady mage looked interested and yet disdainful. Fáelán signaled for a waiting attendant.

“Would you be so kind as to find Lady’s Josephine and Leliana and request their presence immediately?” The attendant bowed and disappeared as Vivienne and the designer looked up at her.

“Milady?” asked the designer quizzically. Fáelán stood and walked over to pour herself a glass of the punch Vivienne had first offered her. She surveyed the designer over the top of her goblet. Josephine appeared quickly and Leliana appeared as if she’d been a ghost. Fáelán nodded to the designs on the table.

“What do you think of these designs?” she asked, still sipping at her punch. She watched as Josephine and Leliana picked them up to examine. Josephine spoke first.

“They’re a pleasant uniform, and would serve us well at Celene’s Ball.”

“Your opinion of my outfit then?” the Dalish prompted. Leliana eyed it before turning her gaze to the elf.

“This doesn’t exactly look like you.”

“But of course it looks like the Inquisitor!” protested the orlesian lady. Fáelán’s eyebrow rose as her ears moved out from her head. Josephine peered over it again.

“Perhaps more like...” she began.

“Andraste.” Vivienne finished for her.

“But is that not what you wished? For the Herald to look the part that she is seen as?” asked Armoire. She was looking between Vivienne, Josephine and Leliana and missed the quick twitch of Fáelán’s eye and the flattening of her ears.

“I am not your Prophet.” Fáelán growled. The sound was low and threatening. She straightening again, and addressing all four of the women before her.

“We are the Inquisition. We come from different backgrounds, seeking to stop the destruction of Thedas at the hands of a legend. We are united by the will to seek order in the face of chaos being sewn. In the face of Orlais and their Grand Game, we will play their game better than they do, and none of my people will be seen looking as if the Inquisition cannot afford for them to be different. I want outfits that can be battle worn and beautiful.”

“Surely you do not anticipate fighting at Celene’s ball!” Armoire exclaimed.

“There will be battle. There will be blood. Corephyus will not give up Orlais without it.” Fáelán spoke firmly, before looking at Josephine. “Summon a sketch artist, and all of my companions.” She looked to the attendant who had brought Josephine and Leliana before. “Please summon the Archanist Dagna.” As Josephine mobilized a few of the attendants who had followed her, and the attendant took off again, Fáelán fixed the designer with narrowed eyes. “You’ve sketches of my companions, yes?” The designer nodded dumbly before at Fáelán’s open palm, she handed them to the Elvhen. The sketch of Fáelán was on the top, thankfully without the stupid dress on it, but it still looked nothing like her. Scanning the rest of the sketches, and finding them to accurately match her advisors and companions, she ripped the drawing of someone else in two. Looking up at the two remaining advisors before her, she gestured to the table again and sat, noting the gleam of satisfaction in Vivienne’s eyes and the amusement on Leliana’s face as they followed her lead.

The sketch artist soon arrived as her companions appeared in ones and twos. Between all of them, they soon found that Vivienne’s mezzanine was far too small for the council they had created, and moved down to the tables usually used for eating in the main hall. Madame Armoire followed after the collection, but was largely ignored despite her irritated commentary as the fashionable among them took turns using their knowledge and the subject’s ideas to come up with individualised outfits for all of them, showcasing their individual traits and styles, while still being fashionable and functional. Dagna’s input was that she could enchant most of their outfits to be as resistant to damage and blood as possible, allowing them to fight without threat of their outfits coming apart. Armour was still going to be smuggled into the ball to be used, but it would not be such a requirement to protect outfits that could protect themselves.

It was decided that while their outfits would differ greatly from each other’s, the one uniting factor was the sign of the Inquisition was to be displayed in some way on each. It would show them as formidable and united, but unafraid to show the power of the Inquisition. Power that was shown in the aspects that united them as well as made them different.

 

About a half hour of staring at the page and absorbing only a small amount, he heard the door open and looked up. It didn’t open much, and he frowned at it before looking down at his report again.

Something brushed his leg, and his frown deepened. Looking down at his leg, he saw catlike green eyes that stared at him. The creature trilled before hopping into his lap. He froze. Cats and he tended to not get along well, he’d never once been approached by one without it being deposited in his lap by a well meaning family member. It usually did not end well. The small feline melted into him behind his surcoat as a small knock sounded on his door.

“Enter” he called, and watched as a few small faces peered around his door. “Yes?” he asked of the group of orphans. They whispered a bit before the bulk of them pushed one of their number forward. The lad cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Excuse me Commander sir, but we was looking for a cat. She may have come in here, would you have happened to see her sir?”

Cullen considered the feline in his lap. She seemed+ to be trying as hard as she could to make herself invisible to the newcomers, even if they could not see her from the angle they were at.

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen any cats around here for a while. I’m sorry to be unhelpful.” He responded. The group of youngsters looked crestfallen, but the lad they’d chosen to speak perked up quickly.

“Thank you anyway sir.” He said before he ushered his friends out and closed the door behind them.

Cullen looked down at the cat, which promptly hopped up on his desk and stared at him.

“Were you trying to stay away from them?” he asked her. She blinked at him and began delicately grooming a paw. He chuckled. “Well, you’ll have to find yourself another place to be safe from them. I’m busy here.” Her grooming stopped and she cocked her head at him, almost considering him. Apparently making a decision, she hopped back in his lap and curled up with her tail over her nose. He blinked. “I.. suppose that will do.” He said suddenly self conscious again now that she was back in his lap. The cat didn’t seem to mind, and he hesitated before offering her his gloved fingers to smell. She delicately took in his scent, or the scent of the leather he wore, before she brushed her chin over his finger tips, and he took the opportunity to scratch her under her chin. She seemed to like that, as she began to purr as he tried to mimic what he’d seen his sister do for her cats. The vibrations from her purring vibrated up his armour and into his clothing. He was surprised by the power of the little creature, and found he was grateful for her warmth. He drew the report back to himself, and she didn’t shift. He found himself stroking her head as he read, and discovered that he was able to absorb a little more of the report he was reading.

When he finally stretched his arms and wanted to stand, he picked up the lethargic feline and placed her on his desk. She stretched in tune with him before sitting down and staring at him again. When he stalled, not knowing what to do, she sat down on the stack of work he’d done and fell down on her side. He blinked.

“Hey, those are mine.” She gave him a look as if to say “so?” He chuckled as he sat again and starting on another stack of work. The cat rolled herself up, and he continued to work, adding finished pieces to the side of his original stack. Periodically she would stretch out, still asleep, and he would give her a scratch behind the ear. She seemed to like that, as she started to purr again. They passed the evening together, and as he stood a final time to head for his loft, so too did she. He watched her, curiously as she hopped off the desk and headed for the door before sitting at the base of it and staring at him.

His hand on the handle, he looked at her.

“Thank you, for your company Milady. Should you wish to visit again, I will keep my door ajar for you.” She trilled at him, wound her way around his legs and then strode out the door he’d opened for her. He closed it behind her with a small smile on his face, noticing as he did so that his headaches were gone.

‡

 

The following day, about mid morning, he heard a knock on his door. It was sharp and to the point.

“Enter” he called without looking up. The door swung open revealing 3 people with measuring tapes over their shoulders. One grizzled woman looked him up and down before speaking.

“Would you be Commander Cullen?” she asked as he finally registered he had guests and stood.

“I am, Milady-?” he asked.

“Mara.” She replied shortly. “These are my companions, Faras, and Bella.” She threw a hand over her shoulder indicating her companions, one a grizzled gentleman and the other a younger female holding a clipboard. “I’ll need you out of your armour Ser.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, confused.

“Strip down to your tunic, if you please Commander. This will go far faster if you comply, and I’m sure that a busy man like you has a million things to do beyond be fitted for his uniform for the Winter Palace”

“I don’t believe I-“Mara handed him a letter and waited for him to read it. It spoke of their need to measure each of the Inquisition who were needing clothing made for the Ball at Halamsharal. In regards to himself, he saw that a note had been written that he be treated respectfully and not harshly, with all care that he not be made uncomfortable. Lowering the letter, he saw that Mara had her arms crossed as she waited for him to digest the words.

“Well?” she finally asked, not unkindly. Sighing, he began undressing out of his armour, at which point Mara whipped her measuring tape around every muscle and plane of his body, calling out numbers which the shy Bella dutifully copied down on her clipboard. Faras surveyed him at a distance, offering suggestions on fabric, design and cut to Bella and Mara as Mara called out numbers for measurements.

After the sixth time of being told to flex his bicep, Cullen felt the beginnings of throbbing at his temples. Amidst the headache that was building, he started mentally reciting the Chant of Light, but that soon faded under Mara’s whipping measurements. His mind drifted to what he’d read on the letter Mara had handed him. He knew the penmanship of the last note, the one where it indicated that he be treated well. A sudden flash of anger brimmed up inside of him.

How dare she tell anyone else about his weakness, he’d told her that out of duty and here she was giving out the information to complete strangers!

Taking a deep breath as Mara pulled her tape measure around his chest; he caught himself wondering where that thought had come from at all. She hadn’t used the information against him; she’d only been trying to help.

A traitorous voice in his head asked him if these tailors were the only ones who she’d told, or if there were others that knew because of her as well.

As the tailors finished, thanking him for his time, he nodded them away and massaged his temples, suddenly very aware of the intense headache that had manifested as they had done their work. Behind the pain was an insistent anger that Fáelán had informed anyone about his predicament. Dressing again in his armour, he decided to have a word with her about it.

Between his office and his seeking of the Dalish, he found a coal of anger burning in his gut. It took him about 15 minutes to discover her bent over Josephine’s desk with Leliana in attendance. He had meant to stifle down the angry ember in his stomach, but seeing her made all of his self control evaporate.

“Inquisitor!” he called to her and the three ladies turned. He stalked into the room as she responded.

“Yes Commander?”

“I would appreciate that in future you do not inform anyone of my current sickness.” He barked at her. She looked confused.

“Sickness? I haven’t told anyone about-“

“The Lyrium withdrawal Fáelán.”

“But I haven’t informed anyone about-“

“Your note on the letter to the tailors informed them well enough.” He snapped at her. Her mouth was ajar as she stared at him.

“Cullen,” Josephine said, rising from her seat. “Fáelán didn’t inform them of anything, she just wanted-“

“To make me seem a weakling.”

“This is not what was meant at all Cullen-“Josephine denied, but Fáelán held up a subtle hand as Cullen again interrupted her.

“Well that is what it did. ‘Do not treat him harshly’, I am the Commander of the army of the Inquisition, do you not think I can take some harsh treatment!?” he snarled at her. His face was a mask of anger as his eyes sought hers. It was an ugly look that she’d never seen on his features before. Her own expression hardened, and she felt her gaze grow stony. “I do not need to be coddled, not by you, not by anyone, and I would have you know this before you stick your nose in my business again.” He waited for her to respond to his snarled declaration.

“Very well Commander. I will refrain from any sort of meddling in your business, as you put it, forthwith. Now if you will excuse me, I have reports to work on. Josephine, Leliana, we will continue this later” He barely waited for her to finish her sentence before he had turned on his heel and left. With Cullen gone, Josephine stared open mouthed at Leliana, before they both turned to look at Fáelán. Her manner had gone stiff as it had been when they had still been in Haven.

“Plans have changed. I will take an advance force with the advance troops. We will spend some time in the Approach and be ready to march on Adamant when the rest of the army arrives in the Approach on schedule. With that in mind, I need to sort out armour plans for my companions.” She bowed stiffly and left the two ladies, both still in various states of shock.

“What exactly just happened?” Josephine asked as the door closed behind Fáelán. Leliana stared hard in the direction that the elf had gone and didn’t answer.

‡

 

 


End file.
